Promises Kept
by Realmer06
Summary: When the final battle arrives, will Harry Potter, with the help he has received from some very special teachers, be able to do what must be done? And is the rest of the world ready for what must happen next? Concluding the Seeker Universe.
1. Dreams

So. Once upon a time, an author named Realmer started writing a story about James and Lily. It grew into a trilogy, which end in the "present" day of the books, and then spawned several shorts. And now . . . this. This is the true conclusion to my Seeker Universe, my take on the final battle and all that leads up to it.

If you haven't read the Seeker Trilogy et al, don't worry. I mean, yes, it'll make this easier to understand, but . . . it's not _strictly _necessary.

Enjoy! Oh, and much much thanks to my fantabulous beta TMell!

Realmer

DISCLAIMER: I'm writing under a massive deadline to finish this before the release of DH, because I know that JK will send it all merrily off to the land of Alternate Realities. Somehow, I don't think I'd be doing that if I'd actually, you know, written the original series. I merely dabble.

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Promises Kept

Chapter One - Dreams

_Peter Apparated to the Ministry building and had barely popped into existence there before he was running toward the golden grills. He had to find James! _

_The magical elevator moved incredibly slowly. It was excruciating. He waited impatiently at each stop, bouncing on the balls of his feet, willing the enclosure to move faster. _

_Finally, _finally_, the grill slid away and that cool, annoying voice announced the Auror headquarters. He stumbled out, looking around in an effort to find James. _

"_Pete!" he heard a loud voice exclaim. "What in Merlin's name brings you here?" And Sirius came up beside him, looking amused and a little puzzled._

"_I need James, Padfoot!" he said urgently. _

"_Why?" Sirius asked, now looking worried. He knew that only something serious would bring Peter to the Ministry to fetch James. "What's wrong?"_

_Peter shook his head. "Nothing's wrong; well, Lily might answer that question differently, but I need James. Where is he?"_

"_This way," Sirius said, figuring he'd know what was up soon enough. He led Peter down a twisting maze of corridors. At the end of one was a man with out of control black hair speaking to a bald black man. Peter heard the black haired man laugh. "James," Sirius called. He turned to call out a greeting, then saw Peter._

"_Yes – Peter?" he asked, instantly worried. "What's wrong?"_

_Peter shook his head again. "Lily's gone into labor." James paled. _

"_W-what?" he asked, shocked. _

_Peter nodded. "About thirty minutes ago. Remus took her to St. Mungo's and sent me to get you."_

"_But – she's not due for three weeks!" James said, panicked. "We had it all planned –"_

"_Take it up with the baby, James," Sirius said, moving into action, looking to the black man, who nodded and dismissed them. "Right now, you've got to get to Lily." James nodded numbly. Rolling his eyes because James didn't seem inclined to move, he said,"Come on, Pete. Help me with him." And they ushered James out of the Auror headquarters. By the time they had reached the Ministry, he was out of his shock and was frantic. _

_The news that awaited them at St. Mungo's was not reassuring, however._

"_What do you mean, I can't go in?" James thundered at the nurse behind the desk. "I'm the _father_!" The nurse was sympathetic, but refused to budge._

"_I'm sorry, sir, but the doctor has closed the room. Your wife is very close to delivering now, so you shouldn't have too long a wait. Mr. Lupin is with her. But I'll let them know you've arrived."_

_Sirius and Peter dragged James away from the desk before he could do something troublesome, like kill the nurse._

"_Prongs, Prongs!" Sirius shouted. "There's nothing you can do! Nothing but wait! _Prongs_! Pete, help me, would you?" And together they wrestled him into one of the chairs. He was still muttering and fighting them, so Sirius slapped him across the face. _

_It worked. At least, he stopped struggling._

"_My wife is giving birth to our first child three weeks early, and _Moony_ is in there with her instead of me!" he shouted. _

"_Yeah," Sirius agreed. "It's crappy, isn't it? But you know what? That's the way it happened this time. And there's nothing you can do," he said firmly. James sat, breathing hard. _

"_It wasn't supposed to happen this way," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm supposed to be with her," he whispered. _

"_I know, James. I know," Sirius said wearily, sitting back as well. Before long, James was up again, but Sirius and Peter let him go once it was clear he wasn't going to try and force his way to his wife. He just paced back and forth, in an endless cycle around the waiting room._

_After what seemed like an eternity, a masked and capped figure emerged from the door leading to the Ward. James froze in his pacing and stared at the man. He pulled of his cap and mask. It was Remus. _

"_Go on back, James. She wants you." _

"_I'm not talking to you," James said, pointing. Remus smiled apologetically, patting James on the back._

"_I'm sorry, mate. It all happened so quickly; there wasn't much we could do." James gripped his hand tightly. _

"_Is she . . ."_

"_She's fine," Remus said. "Exhausted, but glowing with pride, as she should be. She's not cursing you anymore, which she was doing a little while ago." Remus paused and looked at his friend, considering. "You know, it may have been better that you weren't there," he said. James let out a breathy laugh and headed for the door. "James?" Remus said. James turned to look back. "He's perfect." _

_James smiled and hurried down the corridor. As he neared the room, a doctor came out. He saw James. "Are you the father?" he asked kindly. James could only nod. The doctor smiled. "Go on in," he said. _

_Nervously, James pushed open the door. Lily was propped up in the bed, looking, as Reus had said, exhausted but ridiculously happy. She held a small bundle. "James," she whispered as he came in. _

"_Hey," he said softly. She smiled at him. _

"_Come see your son, James." He crossed to the bed and looked at the small bundle in her arms. _

_He had a shock of black hair that stuck up everywhere. It was quite obvious that the baby's hair, like his father's, would never be controlled. James watched as the baby slept, his tiny mouth opening and closing and his tiny fingers clutching at the blanket. _

"_Oh, Lils," he breathed. "He's beautiful." He smiled down at his son and his wife. "Look what we did," he whispered. He kissed her then and put his arms around her. "I love you so much, Lils. And I'm sorry I wasn't here."_

_She laughed. "Yeah, this one's gonna be troublemaker, just like his father!" James was just relieved that she wasn't mad at him._

_The doctor opened the door slightly then, saying, "There are three men in the lobby asking if they can come back."_

"_Of course," Lily said quietly. The doctor nodded and left. Lily handed the baby to James. The infant was so small! He seemed so dwarfed in James' arms, yet James didn't have the usual fatherly fear of dropping him._

_As James took him from Lily, the baby turned and opened his eyes, looking up at James without crying. James gasped as his eyes met the baby's bright emerald ones. "Hey," he said to the boy. "Hey there. I'm Dad." The baby's seeking hand found James' finger and held on tightly, and that was it. James fell absolutely in love with his child at that moment._

_Then the door opened and the other Marauders were ushered in. As they gathered around, James showed off his son proudly. _

"_What's his name, James?" Peter asked. James smiled and spoke the name he and Lily had decided on only last week. _

"_Harry."_

* * *

Harry woke slowly, opening his eyes in the darkness, the scene of a small hospital room fading from his sight. This was not the first such dream he'd had since he and Ron and Hermione had left to search for the Horcruxes. He didn't know where the dreams came from, but he had the feeling that they were true, and he was grateful for them. A lot of them had been scenes that Remus had told him or scenes that his mother had written about in her book. Tonight's had not been.

He rolled over on to his back and looked up at the stars. He, Ron, and Hermione had destroyed all the Horcruxes in the past year. It had been one of the most difficult things Harry had ever done, and if it hadn't been for the dreams helping him along, he was nearly certain that they never would have been able to do it. Now, all that was left was to find and destroy the last piece – Voldemort himself.

The snake had been the hardest so far. But destroying Voldemort would make that seem simple, Harry knew. And Harry didn't know yet how he was going to do it, but he wasn't worrying too much. He'd find a way. He didn't let himself think otherwise. Perhaps the dreams would tell him.

The dreams told him many things. In the past year, he had learned how to read them. They helped keep him appraised of how close they were to finding a Horcrux, when they could expect reinforcements, what was going on with their families. They did all this in addition to telling him more about his family. Somehow, he knew his parents were helping him.

He hadn't mentioned much of this to Ron and Hermione because it all seemed a bit too much like Divination to him. Ron would laugh and Hermione would scoff. So he just told them what they needed to know, and they didn't question where he got his information.

This particular morning, he informed Ron that Fleur had given birth to her baby, a boy. At least that dream had been fairly straightforward, easy to interpret. Unlike the one he'd had five days ago, one that kept coming back, probably because he hadn't done anything about it. His thoughts kept circling back to it, as though his subconscious mind knew it was important, but his conscious mind was determined to ignore it. His made him uneasy, as if turning everything he'd lived with for the first however many years of his life upside-down.

Every time he closed his eyes, parts of the dream came back. It was driving him to distraction, and Ron and Hermione recognized that. It was Hermione who suggested that they might go to St. Mungo's in hope of meeting up with the family and seeing the baby.

"They'd probably still be there," she said. Harry nodded.

"Yes, the baby was only born last night." It suddenly occurred to him that Remus might also be there. "Yes, we should."

"All right, but later this afternoon," Ron said. When Harry asked why, he said, "Because you don't look as if you slept at all, mate, and you should get some more rest first, or Mum'll go mad." Harry agreed, but knew what he would see once he slipped into sleep.

* * *

"_Tunia! Tunia!" called the small red haired girl. She was only eight, small with bright green eyes, freckles, and two missing teeth. "Tunia!" she said again, skipping into a room at the end of the hall. An older blonde girl, about thirteen, sat at a desk in this room. "Tunia, play with me, please?" the red-head pleaded. The blonde girl sighed and set down her pencil._

"_Lily, I'm a little busy," she said. Lily bounced up onto the bed. _

"_But you've been working all day!" she said. "Don't you need a break?" _

_Petunia turned in her chair, looking stern. "What did Mother tell you about bouncing on the bed?" she asked._

_Lily made a face. "That a lady never does," she said. _

"_Exactly," Petunia said, getting up and crossing to her sister, her face still stern. "So," she said, and then she grinned and, with a flying leap, landed on the bed beside Lily. Lily dissolved into giggles as Petunia tickled her mercilessly._

"_Stop, stop!" she gasped through her laughter. Petunia laughed too._

"_Let me work for fifteen more minutes, okay Lils? Fifteen minutes, and then I'll play with you." _

"_Okay, Tunia," Lily said with a huge sigh. "But what am I s'posed to do until _then_?" Petunia laughed._

"_Why don't you go set up the attic?" she suggested._

"_I can choose?" Lily asked, her eyes lighting up. "But it's your turn."_

"_You can take my turn," Petunia said. "Go set up for anything you want, okay?"_

"_Okay!" she said and bounded from the room enthusiastically. _

_A short while later, there was a knock on Petunia's door._

"_Yes?" she said. _

"_I bring an urgent message from the Queen," came her sister's voice, with affected deepness._

"_Enter," Petunia said, although only ten of the fifteen minutes had passed. Her sister was right. Petunia was ready for a break. Lily entered, wearing a cardboard suit of armor and sword, her hair tucked up under a helmet. In one hand she carried a scroll. "The Queen has bid you fetch me?" Petunia asked, slipping into her character with all the ease of practice._

"_She instructed me to fetch the greatest sorceress in the land. Is that not you?" Sir Lily asked. _

"_So it is said," Sorceress Petunia replied, opening her closet and pulling out a large purple cloak. This she put on. A silver circlet with a dangling purple gem followed. "And what task does the Queen need done that her guards and knights cannot do?"_

"_A dragon must be slain." Petunia smiled, but the Sorceress frowned._

"_And how many have been claimed by the beast's magic?" she asked, pulling the cherry branch wrapped in gold wire that served as her magic wand our of her desk drawer. _

"_No casualties as of yet, Sorceress," was Sir Lily's reply. Sorceress Petunia's frown deepened._

"_Then why must the beast be slain?"_

"_The Queen has so ordered. I am to take you to its lair myself."_

"_But would it not be more beneficial to capture the dragon and tame it? It could then been used in service to the kingdom." Sir Lily shifted uncomfortably. _

"_But the Queen –" Petunia knelt before the knight._

"_Good knight, I ask you to help me in this. Take me to the dragon and help me to tame it. Once we have done so, the Queen will forgive us this transgression."_

"_But, if we should fail, having defied the Queen's orders . . . our lives are forfeit!" exclaimed the knight. Petunia laid a hand on Sir Lily's arm._

"_Good knight, if we fail in an attempt to tame a dragon, our lives may well be forfeit anyway. Will you help me?" _

_There was silence for a long while, then the knight nodded. "Aye, Sorceress. I will help." Sorceress Petunia smiled. "Then lead me to the lair!" And the two sisters ran from the room. _

---

"_Tunia?" came a little girl's whisper. Petunia rolled over sleepily in bed. Her door opened slowly and Lily's head poked in._

"_What's wrong, Lils?" she asked._

"_I can't sleep." Petunia pulled back the comforter and patted the bed. Grinning, Lily climbed in and lay down in her sister's embrace. "Tunia?" she asked._

"_Yes, Lils?"_

"_I saw a shooting star."_

"_Did you make a wish?" Petunia asked sleepily._

"_Mm hmm," Lily said with a yawn. "Wished for a magic wand. If I had one, I'd wave it and fix everything that's wrong with the world." Petunia smiled._

"_I believe that. If anyone could fix the world with magic, it'd be you, Lils." Lily smiled._

"_Tunia? If you saw a shooting star, what would you wish for?" Petunia propped herself up on one elbow and gazed out the window, thinking._

"_That it was all real," she whispered finally. "The magic."_

_Lily nodded, turning over so she could see Petunia's face. "I wish so, too," she said. "What do you want to be real the most?"_

"_Dragons," Petunia said, smiling as she thought about this afternoon's game. "I want to see a dragon someday. I want to ride one across the sky." she said._

"_You'd be the best dragon tamer ever," Lily said, looking up at her sister. Petunia smiled down at her. _

"_I love you, Lils."_

"_I love you, too, Tunia."_

"_Good night," she said, kissing her sister on the cheek and snuggling down into the pillow, pulling the covers over both of them._

* * *

Harry woke as he always did after that dream – uneasy. If it wasn't that he had learned to recognize his mother anywhere, he would never have believed that this was his Aunt Petunia.

_She _hated _my mother! _he thought fiercely. _Hated her! Mum said so. And I've seen enough to know that._

"Harry?" Ron said, seeing he was awake. Harry sat up, still thinking.

"Let's go," he said, suddenly decisive. Something told him that Remus would be at the hospital.


	2. Seeing Petunia

Chapter Two! Don't expect updates this quickly all the time, by the way. I'm hoping to give you enough here to keep you interested, but I'm still in the middle of writing the thing. I hope you're enjoying!

DISCLAIMER: Still not mine. Well, no, I take a little of that back. Dominic is mine. Him I claim. Everyone else belongs to JK.

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Promises Kept

Chapter Two - Seeing Petunia

Mrs. Weasley was ecstatic to see them, of course. This past year had been very difficult for her, though she tried not to show it. But they all knew it, and Harry was reminded time and time again how brave a woman Mrs. Weasley truly was.

When they entered the waiting room full of Weasleys, she hugged enthusiastically all around, cried a little, and scolded them for not eating more. And though Ron let out an "Oh, _Mum_," all three of them were pleased with her reaction.

"The rest of us have all seen the baby, so you three go on back. Here, I'll take you," she said and ushered them through a door and into a hallway that Harry recognized vaguely from last night's dream. Halfway down the hall, Mrs. Weasley knocked on a door and poked her head inside. "Fleur dear? Some surprise visitors would like to stop in." Then they were ushered through the door.

While Fleur exclaimed her delight at seeing Ron and Hermione and Harry again, Harry whispered to Mrs. Weasley. "Is Remus here somewhere, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Yes, dear. Would you like to speak to him?" She searched his face and he tried to smile reassuringly.

"Yes, but it's nothing serious," he told her. She smiled and patted his cheek.

"I'll get him for you," she said. Then Harry crossed to where Hermione was cooing over the baby. Ron was swelling with pride looking at his nephew.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Dominic Michael," Fleur said with pride. "You may 'old 'im, eef you weesh, 'ermione." Smiling, Hermione carefully took the boy.

"Oh, look at him, Harry!" she exclaimed. Smiling, Harry stepped closer. Little Dominic was quite clearly a Weasley. The little hair he had was bright red.

"He's beautiful," Harry told Fleur. She beamed at him.

A movement from the hall caught Harry's eye.

"Excuse me, please," he said, and slipped outside.

Bill had been watching through the window. "You should be proud," Harry told him.

"Oh, I am," Bill said, gazing in at his wife and son again. "But I'm honestly a little frightened, too, Harry. I've only just realized how brave my parents were, bringing seven of us into a world beset by war?" Bill shook his head. "I don't know how they did it, raising us all as well as they did. I'm worried that I won't be able to do as well. That I won't be able to protect him."

"And you think that makes you special?" came a new voice. They both turned to see Remus coming down the hall. "Every single good new father has felt that," he said with a smile. "You're just one of the many."

"I hope so," Bill said. "A good father, I mean."

"If you worry about being one, you have nothing to worry about." Bill smiled, then, with a nod to them both, he entered the small room, closing the door softly behind him. "Molly said you wanted to speak to me, Harry?" Remus said. Harry glanced around. There was a lot of activity in the corridor.

"Yeah, but is there someplace more private we could go?" he asked. Remus raised his eyebrows. Harry shrugged. "It's not something I want to get out." Nodding, Remus gestured for Harry to follow him. They went to a small empty office on the floor below the Maternity Ward.

"Dumbledore had it set up, in case he had to work directly from the hospital," Remus said, answering the question Harry hadn't asked. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a desk and three chairs. Remus said on one side of the desk and Harry claimed the other. "Now then, what's on your mind? I don't mind telling you, I'm surprised to see you here. Fleur only gave birth last night. There aren't many people who have been told, and I know Molly didn't send an owl to you three."

"No," Harry said, then, after considering the best way to approach this, went on. "Remus, I've been having dreams." He decided the flat out truth was better than trying to hedge around things. "That's how I knew about the baby. That's how I've known a lot of things, actually." Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"You've been having prophetic dreams?" he asked, leaning forward across the desk.

"No . . . well, yes . . ." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Not exactly." Remus rested his chin in his hand and waited. "They don't show me what's going to happen before it does, but they tell me things." He sighed again. "It's ridiculously difficult to explain," he said.

"Try," Remus prompted.

"I've been dreaming scenes from my parents' lives," Harry explained. "And whatever I see has another message to it. So last night I dreamed of the day I was born, and that's how I knew Fleur had had a baby boy."

"And . . . how did you know I would be here?" Remus asked.

"That was a lucky guess," Harry admitted.

"How did you know it was a boy?"

"Because it was me. If Fleur'd had a girl, I imagine I'd have seen when Mum was born."

Remus considered that. "How do you know they're real scenes from your parents' lives?" he asked, not doubting, just truly curious.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Was I born three weeks early, so Peter had to go get Dad from the Ministry while you took Mum to the hospital, and he still didn't make it in time?"

Remus laughed and sat back. "Oh, yes," he said, chuckling at the memory. He was silent for a long time, thinking, one hand stroking his chin absentmindedly, one finger occasionally tapping his lips.

"Remus?" Harry finally asked, bringing Remus out of his thoughts. Remus turned his head and took one long look at the boy.

"I don't know what to tell you, Harry," he finally said. "I've never heard of anything remotely like this before. What do Ron and Hermione have to say?"

Harry sighed sheepishly. "I haven't told them," he said. "It's too much like Divination for either of them to be comfortable with it. Of course, if it comes to that, it's too much like Divination for me to be comfortable with it, too." He sighed again, ran a hand through his hair, and gave a humorless laugh. "Me, of all people. Having prophetic dreams. Ron would never let me hear the end of it, and Hermione would spend ages trying to come up with some other solution."

"What sort of things do they tell you?"

"Mostly just what's going on here, with everyone. Helps us feel not quite so disconnected, you know? But sometimes it's about the search. Like, if we're going after something completely wrong, after a couple days, I'd know so that we didn't waste time we didn't really have to spare. God, we'd have been searching for years still without those dreams!" He shook his head, thinking about it, and the two of them lapsed into silence once more.

"Are these always manifested as dreams?" Remus asked finally.

"Well, yeah. I mean –" Harry broke off, looking uncomfortable. "No," he said softly, not looking at Remus. "I've had waking compulsions twice." He glanced nervously toward Remus, but Remus gave no readable reaction. He just sat there, waiting for Harry to continue. After a moment, Harry did.

"One of the Horcruxes had . . . a pretty nasty curse attached to it. Hermione destroyed that one, and never saw it coming. It was a delayed release. God, I was so stupid!" he exclaimed angrily, hitting the desk in frustration. "Hermione and I, we were both – I don't know. I don't know _what_ we were thinking when we turned our backs on that thing. We _knew_ it was still –" He let out a deep breath, shaking his head. "We were walking away, and it came straight for her, and – we weren't ready. We didn't even see it. Ron did. He let out a yell and pushed Hermione to the ground and took it." He closed his eyes against the memory.

"He was in agony, and there was nothing I could do. Hermione's in hysterics, shouting at me to do something, and Ron's writhing on the ground, and I don't know what to do! And I'm frozen, panicking because I know that every second passing by is – and then . . . I know what to do. One minute I have no idea how to even start, and then I'm shouting instructions at Hermione, and I don't even know where they're coming from. But it was the same kind of _knowing_ that I get from the dreams."

"And that's happened twice?" Remus asked.

"The compulsions? Yeah," Harry said.

Remus sat, looking at Harry, considering him carefully. Just when his gaze started to get uncomfortable, he spoke. "Why tell me this?" he asked shrewdly. "I'm guessing it wasn't just because you felt like chatting."

"No," Harry said slowly. Remus really knew him too well. Looking at the opposite wall, Harry said, "It's been a week since we destroyed the last Horcrux. Five days ago, I woke up from a dream that I didn't understand. Three nights ago, there was more. It has come back every night, clearer, sharper, more urgent. This morning the most it's ever been. I know it keeps coming back because I haven't done anything, but – I don't understand it. I don't like to think about it, it doesn't make sense, it –"

"Harry, have you been dreaming about your aunt?" Remus asked softly, interrupting him. Harry turned his head sharply, shocked.

"How, how did you –" Remus looked away this time, frowning.

"Because five days ago I got a message from Arabella Figg that Mrs. Petunia Dursley wanted to speak to me, and three days ago I went to Surrey at her request."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "You went to Surrey, to speak to _my_ aunt? Because she _asked_ you to? My aunt?"

"Yes," Remus said calmly.

"What did she want?" he said, clearly conveying that he couldn't think of a single thing Aunt Petunia would want to say to Remus.

Remus stood and walked to the other side of the desk. "To ask if I had any influence over you, Harry," he said, leaning on its edge. "I told her it depended entirely upon the circumstances."

Harry sat, frowning, trying to take it all in. "Why would she care?" he asked finally.

"She wants to talk to you," Remus told him, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Me?" he asked, incredulous. Remus nodded.

"But she didn't think you'd come if she asked you. She wanted to know if I could persuade you to go see her."

"Why?" Harry asked. Remus sighed.

"A simple question with a long and complicated answer, I'm afraid." He paused, looking for the best way to continue. "Harry, did – I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but . . . were you aware that your uncle . . . that a few months ago, your uncle – passed away?"

Harry thought of a dream he'd had at the end of March, about the death of his grandfather. "Yes," he said, nodding. "Yes, I knew."

Remus nodded. "Well, not too long ago, the beginning of June, your cousin was arrested."

"Beginning of June?" Harry asked. "Before or after his birthday?" he wanted to know.

"Before, but only just. He's being held in a juvenile detention facility at the moment, but there's some question about whether or not he's going to be tried as an adult. You didn't know that?" he asked.

"About Dudley being arrested?" Harry shook his head. "No, but I'm honestly not surprised. It was only a matter of time with him."

Remus nodded. "Well then. Naturally, because of all this, your aunt has spent a great deal of time alone. I think, when your cousin was arrested, she finally saw how she'd been living her life for the past however many years. I think she had to look at how she raised her son and ask herself where she went wrong. Ask herself why you didn't turn out that way, too. And so, she's had a lot of time to think about her sister and what went wrong there. She's a very astute woman, your aunt." Harry raised his eyes skeptically.

"Maybe about what's going on in the neighbor's house," he muttered. Remus shook his head.

"No, Harry. She knows a lot more than she lets on. She had her reasons for what she did, and I'm not saying they're good reasons, but neither is she."

"She told you, then, what it is she wants to tell me?" he demanded.

"Yes, on the chance that you refused to meet with her, which she admitted you would be more than within your right to do. Try to keep an open mind, Harry," Remus said when Harry prepared to protest again. "I know she hasn't been the best person to you, and I know she's said some awful things about your mother, but try to consider that she may have had a reason for what she did."

Harry sighed angrily. "You think I should go," he said.

"I think you should go hear what she has to say, yes, I do. But I can't force you to, Harry."

"I think we both know that's not true," Harry muttered wryly. Remus shrugged.

"Perhaps. But, Harry, consider this, if nothing else convinces you." He straightened, standing again. "If you've been having dreams about your aunt, it's quite likely I'm not the only one who thinks you should do this."

Harry sat back in his chair, becoming resigned, yet again, to the fact that he was going to have to change an image of someone that he'd held for a long time. He'd done that with Peter and Snape and Malfoy and even Voldemort to a certain extent. Was it really so much harder to do so with his aunt?

_Yes_, he thought sullenly.

_Why?_ another voice asked him. He sighed heavily.

_Because she was supposed to be a person, _he answered. _She was my mother's sister, and that was supposed to mean something._

"All right," he said aloud, looking up at Remus. "I'll go." And he stood. "I'll go right now, in fact. While everyone else is occupied. Ron will want to stay here and catch up; I've got a few hours. I'll go now. Cover for me?"

Remus looked slightly flustered. "Now? Well, all right, Harry." He rubbed his eyes. "Make sure the coast is clear, then go down and use the Apparition point outside. I'll stay here and pretend that I'm still talking to you."

Smiling grimly, Harry left.

* * *

She hadn't opened the old chest in the attic in years. Not since she had closed it, seemingly for good, after receiving the news that Lily had died. In an effort to remove her sister from her life as best she could, she had gathered every scrap, every childhood memory, every letter, and locked them away in that chest. If she could forget the chest, then she could forget her sister.

But it wasn't that simple. In order to forget her sister, she had to forget part of herself as well. She had locked away "Tunia" when she locked that chest, and become "Mrs. Dursley," a cold, shallow, relatively unfeeling woman. She had forced herself into that persona for seventeen long years.

Now, it was slowly crumbling away. Alone after Vernon had died of a heart attack and Dudley had been taken away, she had looked in the mirror day after day and not known herself. Surely that hardened woman with the vapid look on her face couldn't be her. Surely she, Petunia Evans, would never have spoiled a son to the point of felonious behavior. Surely she hadn't been so blind as to let that happen. Petunia Evans would never have married as hard and cruel a man as Vernon Dursley. Petunia Evans would never have forsaken her sister's only son. Petunia Evans would never have turned her back on that sister.

But she had. She had. Because Mrs. Dursley was not Petunia Evans. She had made sure of that twenty years ago.

But now she was here, in the attic, the place where she had avoided going for so long. She was kneeling in front of the chest. She hadn't yet been able to bring herself to open it. The flood of memories that had washed over her just stepping through the door . . .

_Two girls chasing each other around the room, red and yellow hair flying, riding dragons, waving wands, shouting made up spells . . . _

The memories threatened to overwhelm her again as she reached out one trembling hand and undid the clasps on the chest. Telling herself to just do it, she closed her eyes and threw open the lid. The smell of cedar alone was enough to send her back.

_The redheaded girl knelt in front of the open chest and inhaled deeply. "Smell it, Tunia! Doesn't it smell like promises? Anything could go in here, _anything_!"_

Shaking, Petunia began lifting things out of the trunk, no longer fighting the memories.

A silver circlet with a dangling purple gem and a withered branch wrapped in gold wire, relics of a sorceress.

A handmade broom for witches to fly on.

The cardboard armor of a girl knight.

Two wooden swords with plastic jewels glued on.

A long purple cloak.

_Two girls chased each other around the room, red and yellow hair flying, riding broomsticks and taming dragons, waving wands and shouting made up spells . . . _

Then, buried under the childhood remnants came the heavier things.

Photographs. Lily. Petunia. Both of them together. The Evans family. A grinning blonde teenager in a silver circlet and long purple cloak with her arms around a gap-toothed redhead in cardboard armor planting a kiss on the lady knight's cheek.

_Thomas Evans laughed at his two daughters as the ran around the front yard in their costumes. "Okay, you two," he called. "Let me get a picture of you in your costumes! Say Halloween candy with cheese!" Giggling, the two sisters grinned and repeated their father's silly phrase._

"_Halloween candy with cheeeeeese!"_

_The camera clicked and their father turned away. Giggling, Lily tried to pull away, but Petunia just held her tighter, swooping down and kissing her on the cheek while Lily laughed. _

_Flash! The two girls turned, startled, to see their father lowering his camera again, grinning at having caught them unaware. _

Next came a shoebox full of letters. Lily's letters. One for every week of her life since she'd left for school. She'd never missed a week. Not since . . .

_Dear Tunia,_

_This will be my last letter for a while. That evil wizard I've told you about? He's coming after James and Harry and me, and we have to go into hiding. It shouldn't be for too long, but we can't risk the sight of an owl leaving here every week._

_I'm so scared, Tunia. How can I protect my son, and how can I protect James and myself? I can't tell anyone else how scared I am, because they need me to be strong, but . . . I'm so scared, Tunia. I'm only twenty-two, and I don't want to die. Please, Tunia, please be my big sister again. Please forgive me. I don't know what I've done, but please . . . I don't want to die with you angry at me, with you hating me, please . . . _

Tears threatening now, she pushed the shoebox to the side and reached for what came next. Another letter, from that Dumbledore man. Arabella said he'd been killed. She didn't know why it should matter to her, and to Mrs. Dursley, it didn't. But he had meant the world to Lily, and so to Petunia Evans, his death meant a lot. He'd only ever asked one thing of her, and she'd failed.

_She'd been walking on pins and needles all week, snapping at Vernon and short-tempered with Dudley. And she couldn't tell Vernon why, because it was about that letter her sister had sent her three months ago. The last one she'd gotten. There was a heaviness in the air that felt like it was smothering her. She was so worried about her sister, and there was nothing she could do._

_She'd been up at five because she couldn't sleep. Needing to do something, she collected the milk bottles, meaning to put them outside. But she opened the door to see the bundle of baby on her doorstep. She'd started screaming then, and hadn't been able to stop. There was only one thing that baby could mean._

_Her sister, all of twenty-two and just starting her life, had been killed. And Petunia's life would never be the same._

She was shaking so badly now that she could hardly pull out the next item. The Box. The Box that man Dumbledore must have sent, the Box of Lily's things, rescued from the house.

Some odd pieces of jewelry and clothing.

A few feather quills and books of magic.

A polished wand that she could hardly bring herself to touch.

"_So, tell me about your first year, Lils! I want to hear all about it!" The two girls were sitting on Petunia's bed, Lily having opted not to go to the attic. "Could you show me some magic?"_

_Lily could not match her sister's enthusiasm. "No, Tunia, I can't," she said. "We're not allowed to do magic outside school." Petunia tried not to let her disappointment show. _

"_Why not?" she asked. Lily shrugged._

"_The Ministry won't let us."_

"_The Ministry?" _

"_Yeah, the Ministry," Lily said, as if it should have been obvious. "You know, of Magic."_

"_There's a Ministry of Magic?" Petunia asked, fascinated._

"_Of course," Lily said, shrugging it off as if it were nothing. "And they keep track of magic that happens near Muggles, and I can get in trouble."_

"_What are Mug – Muggles?" she asked, stumbling over the strange word._

"_People like you," Lily said. "Without magic, I mean."_

_A little taken aback, Petunia asked, "What does that make you, then?" Lily laughed._

"_I'm a witch. And I have to go unpack."_

_And without so much as a farewell, she left, leaving Petunia feeling as though she'd been slapped. _

A scrap of blue baby blanket.

_Petunia was exhausted. Dudley was at a difficult age, she knew that. And it didn't help that her attention had been diverted most of the day by her . . . that Potter boy. She'd had to put an old cradle in the smallest bedroom for now. Vernon was insistent that the boy had to be moved out of there. Not acknowledging him as family, he demanded the boy not be coddled by her. Which was hardly likely. She could hardly bring herself to look at him._

_But she hadn't heard anything out of him since moving him up there. And she was worried, because not two hours went by that Dudley didn't scream for her. Thinking he might be asleep, she gently pushed the door open._

_He was sitting up in his cradle, babbling softly to himself. He turned his head as she entered. "Ama?" he said. Then he saw her, and his lip began to quiver. "No," he said softly, looking down. "Ama go." 'Ama,' she knew from her sister's letters, was his name for his mother. Shaking, she forced herself to cross to the cradle. He looked back at her, tears in his eyes. "Up?" he asked, reaching his arms up. Upon seeing his eyes, _her_ eyes, she drew back, instinctively. He looked down again and lowered his arms, tears spilling over, down his cheeks. She couldn't stand seeing those eyes crying. _

_She picked him up. He looked surprised for a moment, then relaxed in her arms in a way Dudley never did. "Ama go," he repeated._

"_Now see here," she said, perhaps too roughly. "I am not your mother. You will call me Aunt Petunia."_

"_No Ama," he said to her. "Ama go." She didn't even know she was crying until he reached up and swiped at her cheeks. "No ky. No ky, Ah Tunia." Completely shaken, she jerked back, nearly dropping him as she deposited him back in the cradle and backed hurriedly out of the room. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. _

The last thing in the Box was a picture. A photograph of Lily and her husband and their son. It had been taken with a Muggle camera, because James had wanted to see a picture of himself that didn't move. The picture of this happy family brought back the worst and most powerful memory of all.

_Petunia stood in the graveyard, dressed in full black, as the seemingly endless line of well wishers finally began to taper off. She shook their hands and smiled and accepted their condolences with the utmost politeness. But she wanted to get home. She still had to pick Dudley up from the babysitter's and get home in time to fix Vernon's supper. Vernon hadn't come to the service, of course. He had really no connection to Aunt Maddie, and besides, he was very busy at work. _

_She wanted to change out of this stifling black dress. Trust Aunt Maddie to die in one of the hottest Junes England had ever seen._

_Petunia was also hoping to get away before she was forced to talk to _her_. Petunia didn't know how her sister had found out about their aunt, but somehow she had, and she had shown up here with a man and baby in tow. Petunia was mortified. Yes, they'd had the sense to dress in _normal_ clothes, and no, the baby hadn't made any fuss at all, and no, Lily hadn't drawn any attention to herself whatsoever. _

_But Petunia didn't want her here. It was that simple. Petunia didn't want her here. And she was here anyway. _

_Lily hung back once the line had almost disappeared. Petunia kept Lily in the corner of her eye as the priest came over to discuss the last few pieces of business. The funeral people were already packing up the tent and chairs as quickly as they could. The sky threatened rain at any moment. Underneath everything else, she could hear _them_ whispering together._

"_Lily, you know that the Azkaban dementors are the most efficient guards the Ministry can place there. They prevent escape more than any humans could –"_

"_I know that, but they're still horrible, James. Every time I have to go there –"_

_Petunia forced herself not to listen. She thanked the priest and the funeral workers as they left, and then hurried to leave as well. But her sister's voice stopped her._

"_Tunia?" Petunia froze, back turned to her, hardening her expression._

"_What are you doing here?" she asked harshly. _

"_She was my aunt, too, Tunia," was Lily's response. Slowly, Petunia turned. Lily was a few steps behind her, the man who now held the baby a few paces beyond. _

"_You think that gives you the right to show your face here?" Petunia asked. _

"_Tunia," Lily started wearily, "she was the last family I had left but you. I came out of respect to her memory, because someone contacted me – not you, I might add – and told me she had passed away. I came for her. I don't know what you're reading into it, but I came for her."_

"_I might be more willing to believe that, Lily," Petunia spat bitterly, "if you had shown your mother the same courtesy."_

_Lily looked stung, as if Petunia had slapped her. "Tunia, that's what this is _about_?" she asked, looking incredibly tired. "It was eight years ago!"_

"_She was your mother!" Petunia broke in._

"_I had no way to get back!" Lily said, her face pained. "It wasn't as if Dad could come pick me up after school, Tunia! I had no way home, and I had exams. I couldn't leave," she whispered. _

_Petunia glared at her, jaw set. "Do you know what it was like?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft and hard. "Every well wisher, every single one, asking Dad and me 'Where's Lily?' Do you know how _embarrassing_ it was to tell them that you weren't there to lay your mother to rest because your school _exams_ were more important to you?" Lily looked away, tears in her eyes. "I ask you again, Lily. Why are you here?"_

"_I came for Aunt Maddie," Lily said stubbornly. "I have no control over what you choose to think, but I came for Aunt Maddie."_

_Petunia looked at her for a moment, then flicked her eyes up to the messy-haired man standing a few feet away. "And you brought _him_? Another _freak_ like you?" Lily flinched at the term._

"_My husband," she said, "James. And our son, Harry." Petunia said nothing. "I - I hear you have a little one, too, Tunia. Dudley, is that right?" Petunia gave her no response. "I - that's great. I'm sure you're happy, I hope you are, and I was hoping –" she faltered, then forced herself to go on. "I was hoping we could –"_

"_What?" Petunia broke in. "You were hoping we could what, Lily? Fix things?" she sneered. "Fix what went wrong? And make it better?" Lily looked away. "Okay, Lily," Petunia said in a falsely cheerful voice. "Why don't we do that? Why don't you bring out your magic wand and wave it around and see if you can fix the world? Why don't you do that, hm?" Lily's eyes began to fill with tears and she stood, unmoving. "Why don't you see if that works?" _

_Petunia's voice grew harsh then. "Do you know why it won't? I do. You're the one with _magic_, but I'm the one who knows why you can't fix anything. It's because you're the problem. _You're_ what's wrong." Lily closed her eyes against those words. Petunia went on, a waver in her voice as she fought back angry tears of her own. "You think you can have both worlds somehow, but you _can't_. You can't be one of us and one of _them_. You can't be _that_ and this both, Lily. You can't. You have to choose one or the other. And you have."_

_Her next words were the cruelest and most bitter yet. "You chose _them_ and that world when you were twelve years old, on the day you decided that magic meant more to you than we did. You abandoned us that day," she whispered through clenched teeth. Lily let out a sob._

"_Tunia," she said, pleadingly._

"Pe_tunia, Lily. My name is Petunia. Not _Tunia_," she spat the childhood nickname. "You made your choice. Now live with it." She turned to walk away when Lily's voice rang out._

"_What do you _want_ from me, Petunia?" She stopped, listening but not turning around. "I don't know what you want from me. Do you want me to say I regret it? That I regret being what I am? Do you want me to apologize for it? For being this, for having this?" There was a ragged quality to her voice now. "I can't, Petunia. I _don't_ regret it; I _can't_ apologize for it. It's what I am. But I'm not the one that's shut off one world from me. I'm not the one who's closed the door – that's you. I have _tried_ to make you a part of my life; I have _tried_ to be a part of yours. It's _you_ pushing me away, and I don't know _why_!" The last word came out with another sob, and there was silence for a few moments as Lily tried to continue._

"_You're my sister," she whispered finally. "You're my big sister, Tunia," she said almost desperately. "And I don't understand why you hate me. Please," she whispered, pleading. There were tears streaming down Petunia's face as she tried to keep her resolve. "_Talk_ to me, Tunia. Tell me what you want." _

_And then Petunia did the cruelest thing she had ever done in her life. Without turning around, she said in a cold, hard voice she hadn't thought herself capable of, "I want never to see you again. Good day, _Mrs. Potter_." And with that, she strode away, her own tears and anger and frustration threatening to overtake her. She could hear Lily sobbing behind her, the sobs mixed with a low murmur. Unable to stop herself, she turned._

_The baby was now in Lily's arms, and the man had his own arms around both of them, holding Lily tightly and whispering tenderly to her, his pain at her own showing in his face. Even as Petunia watched, the baby raised one hand and swiped gently at Lily's cheeks. Lily held him closer, shaking her head at something her husband said. He laid a hand on her cheek and gently began wiping tears away, whispering all the while._

_Petunia stood watching, unable to look away, as a wave of pure, raw envy swept over her. She would never have this. If she was upset and crying, Dudley would never try to comfort her. Vernon would never hold her close and whisper tenderly to her. He would never feel pain because of her own, not because he didn't love her, just because he wasn't romantic. _

_But this man would do anything for Lily, _anything_. Even as she watched, he felt her looking and lifted his eyes to her. The look he gave her was pure venom, because she had dared to hurt the woman he loved. She glared fiercely back at him and lifted her chin defiantly. Then she turned and walked away from the scene, away from her sister and her last chance at setting things right. Tears spilling down her cheeks, she left, and never looked back. _

Her own sobs brought her out of this memory. She had closed so many doors because she believed that leaving them open would be too painful. Taking deep, shuddery breaths, she worked to control and quiet herself.

It was only then that she realized that someone was knocking at her door.

Clearing her tears as best she could, she hurried downstairs, calling as she approached the door. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I was in the attic and I couldn't hear." She opened the front door. "I hope you haven't been –" She stopped.

Her nephew was standing on her porch.

* * *

Chapter Three should be up in a few days! Please, review and tell me your thoughts!

Realmer


	3. Battling Dragons

Chapter Three! To preface, Petunia is, to me, an exceedingly interesting character, with far more going on than we have the privilege of seeing. That being said, I fully believe that will change once DH is published. Funnily enough, this chapter was originally intended as a oneshot entitled "Should Never Have Been a Stranger," which I was going to use for the chapter title until I realized I'd cut the line somewhere along the way. shrugs So, here's my take on Petunia. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I own neither Harry Potter, Petunia Evans, or Mrs. Dursley. I'm not making any money, as can be proven by my nearly empty bank account, so suing me won't get you very far.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Three - Battling Dragons

She hurried downstairs, calling as she approached the door. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I was in the attic and I couldn't hear." She opened the front door. "I hope you haven't been –" She stopped.

Her nephew was standing on her porch. "Harry," she said softly. "I - you're here." She hadn't expected him to come.

"I was told . . . you wanted to speak to me?" he asked, his tone unreadable. He appeared very uncomfortable, though, as if he wasn't sure how he should be acting.

"I – yes, I – please come in, Harry," she said in a rush, opening the door more fully and giving him space to step in. "There's a – a kettle on. In the kitchen. If you want tea," she said haltingly, trying to compose herself.

"Yes, thank you," Harry said. She led him into the kitchen, where he sat while she bustled around getting mugs and tea bags. Standing at the counter, her back turned toward him, she allowed herself a moment to shut her eyes and lean against it for support. She truly hadn't expected him to come. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she turned and handed him a mug of tea. He accepted it with a nod and set it on the table. She took her own and seated herself, looking at him.

The mug seemed odd to Harry, she could see that. He had only ever seen her serve tea in teacups. "When I was younger, I always preferred my tea in a mug," she explained. "Especially in winter because you can hold it better in your hands and draw comfort from the warmth. When Vernon and I would take tea, we used the teacups because it was more proper, but now that it's just me, I find myself reverting to the way I used to do things. A lot of things," she added after a pause. Harry nodded and took a sip, but Petunia merely held the mug in her hands, staring at it, wondering how best to go about this.

"What is it you wanted to tell me?" Harry asked, his face still remaining impassive, impossibly calm. When had he regained that? she wondered. She shook her head in mild disbelief.

"I can't . . . when you were little . . . you used to look at me that same way," she told him. "Just . . . looking up at me, calm. And expectant. And I never got used to it. And I never knew what it was you wanted me to do, but it . . . the way you acted as a baby . . . it was so unnatural. You never fussed or screamed, you just . . . _looked_ at me. Just like that."

Harry looked down, half apologetic, not knowing how to respond. "You didn't expect me to come," he said after a long pause.

"No," she said truthfully. "No, Harry, I didn't. That's why I told that man Mr. Lupin everything. Because I thought you should hear . . . but I thought you'd refuse to hear from me. That's . . . that's what I would have done, if it had been me. If someone who had treated me so awfully for so many years . . . I would have said no. But I should have known you'd be different. If I'd ever given your mother the slightest indication that I wanted to talk . . . she'd have been here in an instant." Petunia held her mug in her lap, looking into the murky liquid, and was silent.

After a heavy moment or two, Harry shifted and said, "I can hear it from Remus, then, if you'd rather –"

"I didn't hate your mother, Harry," Petunia said abruptly. She looked up in time to catch his momentarily startled gaze. Then he masked it again. "I know you think I did. I know she thought I did, but I didn't." He sat back in his chair, waiting for her to continue. There was no going back now. "It wasn't for lack of trying," she went on a moment later, setting her mug on the table. "I wanted to hate her. I tried to hate her. I couldn't. She was my kid sister – I didn't know how."

She looked past Harry, focusing on a blank stretch of kitchen wall, not really seeing it. "We were best friends, growing up. Inseparable. Almost before she was even old enough to ask for it, I was reading to her every night. Fairy tales. Talking frogs, queens, knights, dragons, fairies. Tales of evil foes and daring deeds and true love and happily ever after. Magic. It was my favorite thing in the world. What I wanted more than almost anything else, what I wished for on every birthday cake, every shooting star, every dandelion – that it might all be real. That dragons really did exist, that people could ride broomsticks across the sky and cast spells with magic wands."

She had almost forgotten that Harry was in the room as she went on. "I taught her to love it all as much as I did. When she was old enough, we'd go up to the attic, this attic, and spend the whole day there, creating a world around us. We'd become queen and fairy, knight and sorceress, anything we wanted. We'd . . . tame dragons and catch unicorns and –" She broke off suddenly, tears in her eyes. The words she spoke next were so soft Harry could barely catch them. "Battle evil wizards."

She blinked furiously, shifting her gaze around the kitchen, anywhere but to Harry. It took her a minute before she could go on. "I was the one she came to," she went on, in a much different tone of voice, still sincere, but more determined to go on. "When she got the letter. I was the first. I read it when she waved it in my face, so excited. When I read those words . . . for a moment I was as thrilled as she was. Here was the proof. It was real, it was all real, everything – all of my dreams. And then it hit me. It wasn't real for me. It was real for her. I couldn't go to that world. I didn't have magic. It was Lily." She smiled sadly. "I guess when I wished on those stars, I should have been more explicit."

She sniffed and swallowed, before continuing. "She was so happy. And Mum and Dad were so proud, and I - I _tried_ to be. She wrote home every week, and I devoured those letters, but . . . they weren't enough. She didn't write about what I wanted to hear. She didn't write about the magic – I guess it was commonplace for her by then." She raised her head then, finally meeting Harry's still unreadable gaze. "I _tried_ to be happy for her, Harry. I really did. But all I could think about was reading her those stories. Telling her about wizards and dragons and magic. I'd taught her to love it, and then I was shut out from it.

"When she came home that summer . . . she was different. She knew so many things that I didn't know. She didn't mean to brush me off, but she did. We both tried to pretend as if it was the same between us, but we both knew it wasn't. She had no patience for our games anymore. She didn't need me to tell her stories anymore. She didn't need _me_ anymore. She had changed. We still got along, but it was different."

Petunia was silent for a long moment after this. She was visibly steeling herself for the next part of the story. "Her second year is when things started to go wrong. I grew more and more resentful, reading things into her letters that weren't there. I was sixteen and our mother was sick. I'd had to transfer from my private school to the public school nearby so that I could help take care of her. It was the second time I'd had to give up my dreams. The public school couldn't get me where I wanted to go, but I didn't have a choice. Mother was dying.

"Lily's letters were so carefree. She wrote as if she had not a single regret, not a single thing that wasn't perfect, and I didn't know how she could, knowing that our mother was so sick. My letters to her got shorter and less frequent as more and more of my time was spent caring for Mother. And I started to think of all the things I'd been forced to give up, and I knew it wasn't just for Mother. It was also so that Lily could have her dreams."

She closed her eyes to tell the next part. "Mother died a few weeks before summer, and I wrote Lily to tell her when the service was." There was a pause. "She wrote back with heavy apologies, saying that because of the timing, she couldn't come home. It was too close to the end of the term, too close to exams. And she had no way back. It was a perfectly legitimate excuse, but . . . I don't know. I think, subconsciously, I was waiting for something like that. Some tangible, concrete reason for my slowly growing resentment. I latched onto it, and refused to let go. The fact that she had missed the funeral became my fuel whenever I started thinking about how unfair everything was."

She looked up at Harry, a silent entreaty in her eyes. "Your mother never knew," she told him. "She was home a week later, and, under the cover of grief, I barely spoke to her at all the whole summer. When she went back, I stopped writing. She was so confused, she wrote me, pleading to tell her what was wrong. Holidays became horribly strained. I could hardly stand to be in the same room. Half of me was so angry with her, translating every thing she did into another reason to push her away, and half of me was horrified at what I was doing, at what I had become. The summer before her sixth year, our father died. I was twenty-one, and all dreams I'd ever had of going to university were gone. I'd given everything up to stay with him, caring for him. And he asked for her before he died. So proud at everything she had become. That was the first Christmas she spent at Hogwarts.

"And two years later, I was marrying Vernon and warning her not to come home. The first and only time since her second year that I sent her any mail at all. My silence hadn't kept her from writing, though. She still wrote every week. Never once missed. I lived for those letters," she admitted quietly. "She had a way of writing them that . . . put me in mind of our old games. She created a world in those letters that I desperately needed, a world where we weren't enemies, where we were still the best of friends. She told me everything in those letters – about her classes and her friends and her ongoing irritation with a seemingly incredibly arrogant boy by the name of James Potter." Petunia half smiled as she said this.

"There were a handful of times I nearly wrote back to her, Harry. I don't know how much you've been told about your parents," she glanced at him. "But for nearly seven years, she couldn't stand him. She wrote all the time about how much trouble he was. I was her older sister, though; she couldn't fool me. There was one letter just after her eighteenth birthday. They'd come to be friends, and he'd finally given her a ring and asked her to be his girlfriend, and she said no." She leaned across the kitchen table at this point.

"I had pencil to paper, Harry, and I'd started writing, telling her that she couldn't do this, she couldn't keep refusing and denying what was so obvious, even to me, who'd never met him and didn't know him. And then I stopped, because it hit me that I'd never met him and didn't know him because he was part of _that_ world. Not mine.

"But the time I regret most of all was the very last letter I ever received from her, the one telling me that she had to go into hiding and wouldn't be able to write. She said she couldn't risk the sight of an owl leaving and returning. That was the first time she broke the walls of the world in the letters. She said she –" Petunia's voice caught in her throat, but she forced herself to go on. "She said she didn't want to die with me hating her. And I almost wrote back. But then I thought of what she'd said, that they couldn't risk letters. And I knew if I wrote and explained and apologized, she'd write back and put herself in danger. I convinced myself that it could wait until the danger was past. That the next time she wrote, I'd explain. The next time, I'd fix things. I really thought I still had time," she whispered, the last line almost more for herself than Harry.

"But then . . . you showed up on my doorstep. And I saw you and started screaming and couldn't stop. When I saw you, I knew. I knew she was gone. And I knew I'd run out of chances." The tears that had threatened for some time now were spilling over. But she had to go on. She had to finish. She had to.

"I put her away. I took every scrap of her and shut her away in a chest in the attic. I locked up all of my childhood memories and with them, part of myself, too. I locked away Lily and Petunia Evans when I shut that chest. I divided myself into two separate people, Harry. I tried to forget that Petunia Evans had ever existed. I became Mrs. Dursley, who had never had a sister.

"Sometimes I wonder if that wasn't a little bit of magic in itself, what I did that night. How well I succeeded, if you'll pardon the term. How completely I became another person, one that Petunia Evans would never have recognized. But I couldn't put her away completely. I couldn't make the transformation complete, no matter how hard I tried. Because I couldn't hate your mother."

And here, she couldn't hold back any more. She let out a sob. "I wanted to hate her!" she said angrily through the tears. "I wanted to so badly! Because if I hated her, I could forget her. If I hated her, it wouldn't hurt so much, every day! If I could only have hated her, I wouldn't have had to agonize over how she died _thinking_ I hated her! I wouldn't have cared – I didn't want to care!" She was sobbing now, shaking. "She was so scared," she whispered. "She was so scared, and she thought I didn't love her."

She pressed the back of one shaking hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs, her other hand clenched in a fist on the table. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed, and she didn't even know who she was apologizing to, Harry or Lily. For a moment or two, she was completely lost in her grief, then, with a start, she felt another hand cover hers where it rested on the table. Looking up, she met Harry's gaze, sad but not angry, full of pity and understanding, not blame or hatred. Gently, he squeezed her hand.

Not knowing how to respond to this unexpected gesture, she stood abruptly and took her mug to the sink, where she dumped out the untouched, now tepid tea, and worked to regain her composure. Before she could, however, Harry was beside her, his own dishes in hand. He handed his mug to her, and she rinsed it out as well. For a long moment, they both stood at the sink, neither of them speaking.

Then, Petunia took a deep breath and, looking out the window, said, "I didn't want to make the same mistake. I didn't want you, too, to face this . . . man, thinking that I hated you. That I'd hated her. I didn't want to run out of chances again. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

There was silence, then Harry spoke for the first time since she had begun. "Thank you," he said. She nodded, still not looking at him. She heard him hesitate and then start to leave the kitchen. She hung her head for a moment, feeling exhausted and a little disappointed. But she couldn't blame him, she knew. She had expected this. He'd heard her explanation, and while he'd taken it far better than she'd anticipated, perhaps even to the point of believing her, she could not expect forgiveness. He would go off, battle this man, and that would be that.

"Aunt Petunia?" came his voice then. "Just so you know . . . dragons are overrated."

Slowly, she turned, confused. "What?" she asked.

"Dragons. You talked about wanting to tame them, and I'm just telling you, it's not worth it. They're pretty nasty, even the tamer ones."

"You – sound as if you've had personal experience," she said softly, not sure to do with this information he was offering. He grimaced.

"Yes," he said, putting volumes of meaning into that one word. "It's a long story," he said, and then hesitated, as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to say something else or not. She started to turn away when he spoke up again. "You should hear it sometime," he said. Her eyes snapped back to his at the implication in his words. She stared at him in quiet amazement; he offered her a small smile.

"How is it," she asked quietly, in disbelief, "that the son I tried to raise turned out to be a failure in every regard, while the boy to whom I offered no real form of love turned out to be . . . such an exemplary human?" Harry looked down modestly. Petunia walked to him, and, nervously, placed one hand on his cheek. He looked up at her. "I guess the only answer is that it's true, what they say." He waited. "Blood will out," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes again. Smiling again, he offered her an embrace.

"I am sorry, Harry," she whispered. "I am sorry for everything, and I can't hope to make it up to you." She pulled away from him to look him in the eye. "But I will tell you this. When that woman started talking about my sister that way,"she said with disdain, and knew he knew to whom she was referring, "Well, if you hadn't done something to her . . . I would have." He grinned at that.

"Really?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yes. I could never stand the woman, Vernon's sister or not." Harry laughed appreciatively.

"Neither could I," he said.

"I think you made that pretty clear when you inflated her," Petunia said wryly. Harry rolled his eyes, looking embarrassed.

"I lost my temper," he said sheepishly.

"With the things she said, you had every right to," Petunia told him. Then the clock chimed the hour and Petunia realized with a start how much time had passed. "Oh, Harry, I never meant to keep you so long. You must have things you need to be doing." Harry nodded, looking as if he truly regretted that.

"Yes, I – I do," he said quietly. "But I – I don't have my mother's gift for words," he said, "but I'll try to make sure you know what's going on."

"I appreciate that, Harry," she said. "Thank you." He nodded and headed for the door. But when he reached it, he stopped.

Turning he said, "No, you know what? I don't need to get back right away. You said there was a chest in the attic?" Taken somewhat aback, Petunia nodded.

"I – yes, there is. But –" But Harry shook his head.

"I have time," he said. "I'd like to see it, if you don't have anything else to do." She shook her head.

"No. Well, all right, then, Harry," she said, and led him to the stairs.

"Hang on," Harry said. Already on the stairs, Petunia turned. He was looking at her in a calculating way. "You knew students weren't allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts," he said, and Petunia had to work hard to hide her grin. "You would have had to. And yet, you deliberately let Uncle Vernon think . . . that summer, with the pudding . . . you never told him. Why?"

Straight-faced, Petunia said, "Petunia Evans knew wizarding students couldn't do magic around Muggles, Harry. Mrs. Dursley had no idea." She allowed a small smile to show. Slowly, Harry grinned, and it was infectious. "Come on," she said and climbed the stairs, Harry following.

* * *

Please Review! Chapter four up in a few days!


	4. Fear and Protection

So, the hope is that posting chapter four will force me to finish writing chapter five. Think it'll work? Well, let's hope! Anyway, here you all are. I'm greatly encouraging you to review, even if it's only a few words. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, believe me.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything you read here. It all belongs to the genius that is JK Rowling, curse her. Why, oh why, couldn't I have thought of it first? Ah, well. That's life.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Four - Fear and Protection

"When I said I would cover for you, I didn't realize it would be a four-hour job," Remus commented as Harry slipped back into the little office at the Hospital four hours later.

Harry shrugged. "You were able to, weren't you?" he asked. Remus fixed him with a sardonic expression.

"Harry, they are all pretty intelligent, and they know the two of us too well. I think it safe to say that they knew something was up, but they were willing to pretend otherwise. I don't know for how much longer, though . . ."

"Well, I'm back. I guess I should make an appearance before they do something drastic," he said with a sardonic expression of his own. Remus held the door open and ushered him out.

The moment he entered the waiting room, Mrs. Weasley was on him, leading him over to a chair and fussing over him. Harry smiled. Glancing at Ron and Hermione, he saw that they for sure knew something had happened, but that they also knew he would let them know if it was anything important. And he would tell them everything once they had left. But at that moment, the person he really wanted to speak to was the one sitting quietly in the corner, pretending to read a magazine, pretending she hadn't seen him come in. The thing was, she hadn't turned a page in the time he'd been in the room, and her eyes weren't moving at all.

Because the quickest way to get away from Mrs. Weasley was to let her fuss over him to her heart's content, he did just that, smiling with good humor as she asked him if he was _sure_ he'd been eating enough.

But she knew who he wanted to talk to, and so, after giving him a motherly embrace, she let him go. He walked over and sat casually in the seat next to Ginny.

He had to applaud her. She was still pretending not to notice that he was there. So he just sat, looking around the room and not speaking. Finally, she plopped the magazine down in her lap and glared at him.

"All right, I know you're doing that on purpose," she said. He smiled and picked up her hand.

"Yeah," he agreed, and then grew serious. "Is there somewhere we can go right now?"

"Of course," she said smoothly. "Let's go get a cup of tea from upstairs." She led him out of the waiting room. Everyone let them go.

When they were finally away from prying eyes, Harry gathered her to him and held her tightly, breathing in the smell of her. "Ginny," he whispered. She pulled away from him.

"What is it, Harry? Where have you been?" Harry laughed and took her hand.

"Walk with me; I'll explain," he said. Lacing their fingers together, they started off down the hall, just wandering. "I was in Surrey," he said.

"Surrey?" she asked, obviously confused.

"Yes," he said. "Visiting my aunt." She stopped walking.

"Your _aunt_?" she asked loudly, causing several people nearby to turn and stare.

"Yes," he said, giving her hand a tug to get her moving again. "And if you could please keep it down?"

"Your _aunt_," she hissed. "The one who –"

"Seeing as how she's the only one I've got, yeah." When Ginny still looked mildly outraged, Harry continued. "She contacted Remus, Gin, saying she wanted to know if he could convince me to go see her. Which I did."

"And?" Ginny asked, trying to get her mind around what he was saying. Harry let out a sigh.

"And . . . I'm slowly running out of people to hate," he said. She looked thoughtful.

"Which may be the –"

"The general idea," he broke in, wryly. "Yes." They had reached the almost empty tea room. Harry led her to two chairs hidden in a corner. She sat beside him, their fingers still laced together.

"She had reasons, then?" Ginny asked softly. Slowly, Harry nodded.

"Not good ones," he said, "but . . . ones that I can certainly understand. I think," he said slowly, voicing an idea that had formed throughout the afternoon, "I think they were both to blame. So I can't really blame either of them." He tilted his head and looked at her. She squeezed his hand and then laid her head on his shoulder.

They sat like that, in comfortable silence for a little while, Harry's thumb almost subconsciously tracing her knuckles, rubbing his ring that she wore still. _If only this moment could go on forever_, Harry thought with regret. All too soon it would be over, he knew, and he'd be gone again.

It wasn't until moisture hit his shirt that he realized Ginny was crying.

"Gin?" he asked, tilting her face to his. She sat up and turned sharply away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes. "It's just . . . I hate it when you come back!" she said angrily. Then her voice softened. "Makes it twice as hard when you leave again, because I never know if that was the last time." She shut her eyes against new tears. "I'm sorry," she said again. He shook his head.

"No, it's okay."

"No, it's not!" she burst out. "None of this is okay, Harry!" With one hand, he forced her to look at him.

"You think I don't know that?" he asked her softly. "I'm the last person you have to convince, Gin," he said, and then he wrapped his arms around her. She let herself be held, just for that moment, though Harry knew it wouldn't last. In a minute or two, she'd straighten, he knew, and pretend the momentary weakness hadn't happened. It was one of the things he loved about her. She was letting herself being protected because she knew she needed it, but she hated it at the same time.

And sure enough, a moment later, she pushed him away. "I'm all right," she said. She took a deep breath. "It's just hard," she whispered. He nodded.

"I know," he said. He gave her a small smile, which she returned.

"Have you told Ron and Hermione?" she said, changing subjects abruptly. "About the dreams." Harry rolled his eyes. She'd been badgering him about this since he'd told her. "Harry," she admonished.

"Don't 'Harry' me," he said good-naturedly.

"They deserve to know," she said.

"They'll take the mickey out of me," he countered.

"Ron will," she agreed with a smile.

"Thanks for the support, Ginny," he said sarcastically. She grinned.

"Any time." Then she grew serious again. "When will you be back again?"

"I don't know," he said regretfully. She looked away. "Ginny–" he started, then sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he said softly. She rounded on him.

"Do what?" she asked, a steely edge sneaking into her voice. "Worry? Well, I can't help it, Harry." She glared at him. "Shut up in my house with only my parents? With my mother? Of _course_ I worry, Harry! You can tell me not to all you like, or that you 'wish I wouldn't.' It's not going to change anything." She stood then, angry and frustrated.

"Ginny," Harry started, rising as well, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

"You don't even get it," she told him, half turning. "There are days when I wonder if you're even real, because I hear _nothing_ for so long, and then one day you're just _there_. You just show up, and then you're gone again, and you can't tell me when or where or how or how long! You can't tell me anything anymore, Harry! That's the only answer I get from you anymore! 'I can't tell you,' or 'I don't know,'" she spat at him before turning away again.

He stood watching her, heart heavy. She had every reason in the world to be as angry as she was; he knew that. Whatever he and Ron and Hermione went through, it was twice as bad for those they left behind, waiting. And there was nothing he could say to reassure her. He couldn't lie, but she had, understandably, grown to resent the truth. He simply didn't know, and it frustrated him as much as it did her.

"I turn seventeen in less than two weeks, Harry," she said very softly, and it took him a moment to realize why she was reminding him of that. Once that moment came, though, he felt as if he'd been suddenly plunged into icy water.

"_No_," he said firmly. She whirled.

"Do you expect me to just stay behind forever?" she demanded angrily. He crossed to her and gripped her by the arms, terrified by what she was suggesting.

"You can't," he said harshly.

"Yes, I can," she returned through clenched teeth.

"Ginny, we've talked about this," he said, his voice hard and unyielding.

"More than a year ago, Harry!" she shouted at him, straining against his hold on her. But he wasn't going to let her go that easily.

"You said you'd wait until the danger was past, Ginny, that you wouldn't make this any harder for me than it is already –" But this was the wrong thing to say. She glared at him, fire in her eyes, and he could feel her shaking in fury.

"_I'm_ making it hard for _you_?!" she shouted. "I am _not_ some damsel in distress for you to rescue! And I am sick and tired of _you_ not seeing how hard this is for _me_!" He opened his mouth to retort, but she didn't let him. "And I'll have you know something else," she growled through clenched teeth. "I'm not going to fight because it's going to inconvenience you. I'm going because I refuse to sit and wait around forever, Harry! You don't want me out there? You have two weeks to end this, because when that day comes, I'm _gone_!"

Despite Remus' admonishments and despite the talk they'd had and despite all the growing up Harry had done in the past year, those words still struck him dumb with terror. The idea of her out there, face to face with danger, fighting the evils he knew were out there just waiting, filled him with the worst kind of fear, numbing, overwhelming fear.

"What do you _want_ from me, Ginny?" he demanded of her, gripping her arms even tighter.

"A straight answer!" she shouted, tears now streaming down her face.

"Then ask!" The words were flung out of him. Whatever it took, right now, to keep her safe, he would do.

"Do you think I can't take care of myself?"

"No."

"Do you think I'm some weakling that you have to protect?"

"No."

"Do you still love me?"

"Yes," he said. Every question had brought her closer to him, until now she was pressed up against him and he was looking down at her. She wasn't angry, he saw, when she was this close. She was just as terrified as he was, of losing him, of never seeing him again. Being angry was the only way she knew to cover up the terror.

"Are you coming back to me?" she whispered desperately.

Instead of answering, he kissed her fiercely, trying to show her his own terror, trying to tell her it was all right even though they both knew it wasn't. He held her as close as he could, his arms wrapping tightly around her. She clung to him, as though, through the kiss, she could hold him there forever.

He broke the kiss, but kept his arms tight around her, not giving her a chance to break away. But it seemed she no longer wanted to. She pressed her face into his chest. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, whispering, "Do you know how much you scare me when you say things like that? The thought of losing you _terrifies_ me, Ginny, more than anything else I've ever faced. And I _know_ you feel that, too; I'm not trying to say your feelings aren't as intense. But I don't know what else to do. I know you don't want to hear it, but I don't know any better way. And I'm not about to lie to you," he finished, his voice ragged.

She pulled away from him to look him in the eye. "Is that why you didn't answer my last question?" she asked softly. He met her gaze, refusing to look away. She did, eventually, her eyes filled with new tears. He tilted her face back to his with one hand and kissed her again, long and slow. Then he took her right hand, closing his fingers around it, feeling the ring against his palm.

"Hear me, Ginny," he said, locking his eyes with hers. "I love you. I love you more intensely than I can even understand."

"I know," she said. "And I return that love, Harry. But is it enough?"

There was a long silence between them. Then, "I don't know," he whispered. "I want it to be. I hope it is. I want to believe that it is, to believe that this love is more than enough protection for the both of us, more than enough to keep the both of us safe. But–"

She covered his mouth with her free left hand. "Then believe it, Harry," she pleaded, and she kissed him.

And somehow, he could. Somehow, in that moment, he knew that it _was_ enough, loving her and knowing that she loved him.

He rested his forehead against hers and looked down at her.

She was frowning slightly, and looked incredibly sad. She glanced up at him and offered him a sad smile, which he returned. Then she pulled back and looked around, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What was that?" she asked him.

"What was what?" he asked.

"Just now. You and me," she said. Harry gave her a lopsided smile this time.

"That, my dear, was a row," he said. She wrinkled her nose.

"It was almost worthy of Ron and Hermione!" she said. Harry let out a low chuckle.

"No, no. We're much worse at rowing than they are. Ours was over in a matter of minutes." He put his arms around her again. She laughed softly, then grew serious again.

"I hate this," she whispered, eyes closed. "I hate it. I hate the waiting, and I hate being left behind, and I hate not knowing, but I know there's no other way. I just . . . I don't know where half of that came from just now. I had no right to scream at you like that, Harry. It's just . . . everything, all at once." She glanced up at him. "Is this how he works, Harry? Is this how he tears people apart? The anger and the fear?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. He counts on war time to cause tension and break apart bonds that would otherwise be strong. He counts on the fact that people will get frustrated and angry and say things to those they care about that they don't mean."

Ginny looked away. "So I just did half his work for him," she said softly.

"No," Harry whispered, and when she looked up at him, he went on. "You have me. And I won't let you do his work." Ginny smiled and fit herself into his arms again.

Whether she liked it or not, she had a protector.

* * *

Chapter Five up as soon as its finished!

Please review!


	5. Something to Tell

EDIT: I decided to combine what was going to be two seperate chapters, so you get double the fun! Chapter Six to come as soon as I finish it! And I'm beginning to have hope that I might get this done in a month. :)

So! Please read, please review! It means a lot to me!

DISCLAIMER: I own Shannon, Colton, Adrian, and Tamara, none of whom appear in this fanfiction. In this fanfiction, I own nothing, as my name is not JK Rowling.

* * *

Promises Kept 

Chapter Five - Something to Tell

Harry sat on a log, staring into the small fire they had built, his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands, thinking.

"_And you let us know . . . how – how things go, dear, yes?" Mrs. Weasley said to Harry, patting his cheek and trying not to cry. Harry smiled sadly. _

"_Of course, Mrs. Weasley," he said. She rubbed his arm and turned to give an equally tearful farewell to her son. Harry looked toward Ginny, who was standing a few paces away._

"_And so you ride off again," she said softly. "To play hero, and leave me behind, waiting." She smiled as she said it, but there were tears in her eyes._

"_Yes," Harry whispered, regret filling him. He gathered her to him and held her tightly. _

"_Harry," she whispered in his ear, "I love you more than anything, but if you manage to get yourself killed, I will never forgive you. Not for as long as I live." She looked him in the eye. "I expect promises made to me to be kept," she said, a ragged edge to her voice. Harry nodded, kissed her hard, once, and left. _

"Harry?" came Hermione's voice, with a hand on his arm. Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, taking the plate of food she handed him. She and Ron sat across the fire from him, eating also from plates on their laps.

"It was good to see everyone," Hermione said softly. Harry nodded.

"How's Ginny?" Ron asked. Harry gave a grim chuckle.

"Frustrated," he said, and took a bite out of a piece of bread. Ron and Hermione nodded their heads in sympathy, and for a few moments, the three ate in silence.

"Harry . . ." Hermione said after a moment, "What happens next?" Harry took a deep breath and peered off in the distance, past Ron and Hermione.

"We wait," he said finally, and then his eyes met theirs. "We wait until he comes for us."

"We aren't going to go after him?" Hermione asked. It was Ron who responded.

"No, because if we force him to come to us, we can pick the field, right, Harry?" Harry nodded.

"Gives us a slight advantage, at any rate," he said. "Not much of one, granted, but . . . ever little bit." Hermione nodded, considering that.

"So . . . we wait," she said. "And when we're done waiting, when he comes . . . we fight." It was not a question. As Harry watched, she nodded resolutely.

"It'll be soon," Harry said. "I'm almost certain of it," he murmured, looking around the site. He had taken them to the woods near Riddle House, near Little Hangleton.

"Why here?" Ron asked. "I mean, I'm assuming this is where you had in mind, right?" Harry nodded.

"Yes. Here because I figured it's the place most likely to get him angry, and I need him as off balance as possible." Harry watched as Ron and Hermione shared a glance, and he had to hide a smile. They'd gotten good at that this year, all three of them, communicating volumes with a single glance. He watched as they both asked the same question, made a mutual decision not to ask him, and looked away again, all in the space of a few seconds.

Hermione saw the smile. "What?" she asked him. He shook his head. "What?" she repeated, firmer this time.

"I was just . . . thinking about us," he told her, setting his plate down on the ground. "How far we've come." Then he laughed, taking them and himself by surprise. "That mountain troll," he said, to let them in on the joke. Ron let out a chuckle, and Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep a smile from gracing her face.

"I still can't believe you two locked that thing in the bathroom with me," she muttered, and Ron, without looking at either of them, very quickly raised a hand and pointed at Harry.

"His idea," he said.

"Hey!" Harry said, looking with disbelief at what he had imagined would be his source of support. "You're awfully quick to point an accusatory finger, there, Ron," he said. He was prevented from further accusing Ron by Hermione.

"Really?" she asked, truly curious. Harry looked hesitantly toward her and shrugged sheepishly.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said apologetically, and Ron laughed out loud. Hermione gave him a shove to shut him up.

"It was your idea?" she asked Harry. He opened his mouth to answer her, to defend himself, but Ron spoke first.

"Yep. He was the one who said, 'Hey, let's lock the troll in the bathroom with Hermione.'" Harry glared at Ron, and when that failed to phase him, Harry picked up a piece of bread from his plate and chucked it at Ron's head. Ron, with the finesse of Keeper training, caught it, and laughed.

"You shouldn't throw things at Keepers, Harry. You should have learned that–" The second piece of bread hit its target. Hermione turned away, a hand pressed to her mouth to stifle a laugh. Satisfied that he could now defend himself, Harry set his now-empty plate on the ground.

"I did not say 'Let's lock the troll in the bathroom with Hermione,' I _said_, 'Let's lock the troll in that room it just went into.' I didn't know it was the girls' bathroom; I was eleven. I didn't keep tabs on the locations of the girls' bathrooms."

Ron gave a cough then that sounded suspiciously like "Yet." Harry glared.

"I swear, if I had any more food," he threatened. Hermione laughed, shaking her head at the both of them.

"Here's something I've wondered, though, Hermione," Harry said, shifting so that he was now sitting on the ground, his back against the log. She indicated with a nod of her head that he should go on. "Why did you lie to McGonagall?" he asked slowly, watching her carefully.

She opened her mouth to answer, surprised by the question, then closed it again. And now Ron was watching her curiously as well.

"Well," she finally said, "it would hardly have been gracious after the two of you had just saved my life, albeit after also putting it in danger, to say 'I was crying my eyes out in the bathroom because Ron made fun of me, and then they decided to lock the thing in with me until their Gryffindor personalities got the better of them' now would it?" She fixed both of them with individual, penetrating stares. Ron looked away, sheepish, but Harry continued to look amused.

"Well, no, but not telling the whole truth isn't the same as lying," he pointed out. "You could have said that you were in the bathroom and didn't know about the troll, and we came to warn you, at which point, it became obvious that you already knew. You didn't have to spin some crazy story about going to look for the troll yourself. If you'd just left out the details, you wouldn't have gotten any points taken away."

He noted with interest that Hermione was now looking decidedly uncomfortable. He was still wondering whether to call her on it or not when Ron spoke.

"Also, can you believe McGonagall only took off five points?" Harry noted this comment with interest. Ron had made it, Harry had seen, because he, too, had noticed Hermione looking decidedly uncomfortable. Very interesting, indeed.

"Look, you two," Harry said, steering the conversation in a more serious direction. "I don't say this often enough, but . . . I just want you both to know that you are heroes in your own right just as much as I am." Hermione and Ron both looked posed to deny this, but Harry wasn't about to let them. "No, I mean it. I could never have done the things that I've done if I hadn't had the both of you, all the way through. As has pretty much been proved by the times I've tried. For the past seven years, all the things we've tried to do, the ones that have worked the best have been the ones where all three of us were working together. You both know that as well as I. The body can't work without a brain, nor the brain the body. We're a team, plain and simple, and for myself, I couldn't ask for better teammates. I don't say that often enough, so I'm saying it now, while I still have a chance."

"Harry –" Hermione started, after a worried look to Ron. Harry silence her further argument with a single raised hand.

"There's no time, Hermione," he said. "And there's something I have to tell you both."

* * *

Hermione sat in the dark, staring pensively into the dying fire. She could feel the heat of the coals on her face, but she was too far in her thoughts to really notice. Her mind was spinning with what Harry had told her only a few hours ago. That's why she had volunteered to take the first watch; she needed to think.

_I've been having prophetic dreams_, he had said. She hadn't wanted to believe him; it all seemed too preposterous, but . . . that was what Harry had said, too. Why he hadn't told them before – because she, Hermione, wouldn't believe him, and because Ron would make fun of him. Which had happened. Hermione smiled, remembering.

Ron and Harry had long since gone to sleep, but she sat here still, mind whirling. It was almost over, was what she should be thinking. Unfortunately, the thought that kept coming back was _The end is almost here_, which was not the most comforting thought.

Moodily, she poked at the dying embers, sending sparks into the air, watching as they faded in with the stars. She sighed.

"Hermione?" came Ron's groggy call.

"Go back to sleep Ron," she said. "It's just me."

"Naw," he said, clamoring quietly to his feet. "I'm already up." And he came over to sit beside her on the log. "What are you thinking about?" he asked her.

She remained silent for a moment before answering. "The end," was what she finally said.

Ron gave a low whistle. "Weighty subject."

"It's all I _can_ think about," she admitted very softly. "Especially with Harry . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Some talk tonight, huh?"

Hermione nodded. "And so often I wonder, what am I going to do after this? Being friends so long with Harry . . . and with you . . . it seems this fight is all I know. I want it to be over; I want us to win, to succeed, but . . . what then?"

"Then life goes on, as it always has," Ron said, tossing a small twig into the flames.

"Except that it doesn't," Hermione cried, passionately. Ron glanced at her, surprised at the outburst. Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain. "Life may go on, but not as I know it, Ron. Either way, win or lose. Everything changes."

"Not really," Ron said, considering. "Who you are isn't going to change, Hermione. You'll still be the same insufferable know-it-all you've always been." He managed to coax a smile out of her with that, but it was a small one. "Look," he said, more serious. "You know how important you are to us, Hermione. Surely, you know that."

Finally, she looked at him. The look in her eyes was intense, but unreadable, even for him. "Yes," she said finally.

"Like Harry said," Ron went on. "He's the body, the one who does everything. He knows where to go and how to move and how far he can push all of us. You're the brain, the one who thinks of everything, who keeps us on track and out of trouble. The one who's kept us alive." He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said, trying to joke, "I suppose that makes me the left sock, the one you shouldn't leave home without, but more often than not is just kind of there." He looked away. But almost before he had finished speaking, Hermione had laid a hand on his arm, her look scolding him gently.

"You're a lot more than that, Ron. Surely, you know it," she said, echoing his own words.

"What am I, Hermione?" he asked, his voice quiet and troubled. "If Harry's the body and you're the brains, what am I?" He wouldn't meet her eyes as he said it.

She laced her fingers through his. "You're the heart, Ron," she said, completely serious. "The passion that drives it all. The body and the brain are useless without you. Lost." He looked at her, seeking the reassurance in her voice. "Like Harry said. We're none of us whole without the others."

They lapsed into silence then, each of them caught up in their own thoughts. Hermione's continued on the same track, and the fear that she had kept at bay for so long now came at her full force, fed by the implications of Harry's words. The tears came with it, coursing silently down her face. She couldn't stop them, and she only hoped that Ron was preoccupied enough not to notice them.

But Ron was no longer the insensitive boy he had been at school; over the past year he had matured, had grown, until now he was sensitive to both her and Harry, well tuned to their states of being and their emotions. Even preoccupied as he was, he couldn't miss the shaky sound of Hermione's breath as she tried to hold back her sobs.

Wordlessly, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. She let go then, and, for a few moments, allowed herself the luxury of giving in to the tears, crying softly as he held her, much as they had done that day only a year ago, at Dumbledore's funeral.

"You going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked her softly. She shook her head, but he knew it was more for the sake of movement than anything else. Sure enough, after another moment, she spoke, though her voice was so small that he almost didn't catch her words.

"I'm scared," she whispered. He could have laughed out loud. He didn't, because he knew what it must have cost Hermione to admit that, but he felt like laughing all the same. To think that that of all things would be what was troubling her.

So, instead of laughing, he merely replied, "I'm glad."

Her head snapped up. "What?" she asked, not sure that she had heard him correctly.

"I said, I'm glad. It's good that you're scared Hermione. You'd have to be stupid or a fool not to be, with what we're facing, and after seven years of knowing you, I know you aren't either. If you _weren't _scared, then I'd be worried."

"But you aren't!" she cried then. "You and Harry, you _aren't_! You laugh and joke about everything, you aren't scared!"

He did laugh then, softly and not at all unkindly, but it was a laugh. "Not scared?" he asked, looking down at her. "Hermione, I'm bloody terrified," he said, and it felt so good to finally be able to say that out loud.

"Really?" she asked, her voice small once more. In answer, he merely held up his left hand in front of the fire. It was trembling. She reached up and held it with her own.

"I'm so scared," she said, her voice thick. "I'm scared of what's going to happen to you and to Harry, of course, but –" she faltered, and then went recklessly on, "But I'm scared of what's going to happen to me, too." Her breath hitched. "I'm eighteen years old and I don't want to die." A sob escaped her then, and she buried her face in his shoulder. He put his shaking left hand around her, encircling her with his arms, holding her as close as he could and trying to give her some comfort.

He opened his mouth, to say _something_, to promise that it wouldn't happen, that he wouldn't let it happen, but almost as if she knew what he wanted to say, she sat up, pushing him away wildly, not letting him speak.

"You can't promise me it's not going to happen, Ron," she whispered fiercely. "You can't. You can't make that promise." It was almost a challenge.

"No, I can't," he said, looking away. "I wish I could, but – you're right. I can't."

She nodded miserably. "And the worst of it is," she whispered, "I don't know what I'm fighting for."

Ron wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. Not know? How could she not? "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I don't know what I'm fighting for," she repeated, not looking at him. "I don't. Harry's fighting for Ginny, and you've got little Dominic, and everyone, really _everyone_ has someone they're fighting for, something to live for, something that they _know_ is going to be better because they fought, because we won. I don't." The last statement sounded so lost and un-Hermione that Ron didn't know what to say. "What am I living for?" she asked, whispering the question almost to the cosmos at large rather than to him.

"For us," he said. "For the wizarding world."

She let out a short bark of bitter laughter that held nothing of humor in it. "No, Ron. That's what I'm dying for." She stared into the flames. "Every person, every wizard, who has perished in this battle, in this never-ending fight, that's what they say. 'Died in service to the wizarding world. Died fighting for all wizardkind.' That's what we _die_ for, Ron. I need something to _live_ for. It has to be more focused, more personal than just the wizarding world. What am I fighting for?"

The pain this question brought was etched into every line on her face, thrown into sharp relief by the fire's flickering light. He opened his mouth, but knew he didn't have any answer for her.

"I think –" he paused. "I think no one can answer that for you," he said slowly. "I think you have to find it for yourself."

She smiled, but it was indescribably sad. "I know," she said, and nearly broke his heart with those two words. "But I also know that I'm running out of time to find the answer." She finally looked at him. He held her gaze, but did not answer. Eventually, she looked away again and sighed. "I'm sorry, Ron," she said softly. "There are days when I know we can't lose and there are days when I know we can't win, and today is just the latter. I expect –"

But she couldn't say what she wanted to, that she expected tomorrow would be the other, because both she and Ron knew it wasn't true. So the words hung in the air, refusing to dissipate.

Those words, too, hung there, but Ron and Hermione both refused to speak them, as well, not because they were not guaranteed to come true, but because the two feared that they would.

Hermione shuddered slightly.

"What is it?" Ron asked her.

"Nothing, it's just . . . I feel like this conversation has been had before."

"Not by us," Ron said, puzzled. Hermione shook her head.

"No . . . not by us, but . . . it's been had before nonetheless." There was a pause, then, "You want to know why I lied to McGonagall?" Hermione asked, and Ron was momentarily confused, until he remembered the conversation that seemed as though it had happened years ago. She glanced over at him; he gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. "It wasn't to get you two out of trouble. It was to prove to you that I was willing to lie to a teacher. That I would do it. That there were more important things than earning points and keeping them."

Ron sat, stunned. He hadn't expected that answer. Hermione kept talking. "But there was more to it, too, that requires a longer explanation." Looking away from him, she took a deep breath and went on. "When I got my letter, for a long time, I didn't know what to feel. I was excited and shocked and bewildered and terrified by turns. But what eventually stuck and sunk in was the terror. I made Mum and Dad take me to get all my supplies as soon as we could, and I spent all the money I had saved on books. To learn the history, the practice, the things that were common to you but completely foreign to me. I was terrified, Ron, that I would be the one person who didn't know it all. I studied from those books every day of that summer, and my schoolbooks, too. I was determined to know just as much as the average wizard when I was done, because I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to make friends because I _didn't_ know things."

She glanced at Ron; he was sitting there, listening without commenting, a small, almost imperceptible furrow between his eyebrows. Taking a huge breath, she looked away and went on. "When I saw that troll standing over me, I forgot it all. I forgot every spell, every incantation I had learned. I forgot even that I _had_ a wand. In that moment, all I knew was that I was a Muggle girl, eleven years old, and there was no way I could come out of that encounter alive. And part of me thought, well, it wouldn't matter anyway. No one would really care. As I'd heard earlier that day, I was a nightmare, and I had no friends." She smiled without humor. "For exactly the opposite reason that I'd been afraid of."

"Hermione," Ron started, wanting to apologize, wanting to find a way to make it up for her, something that had happened years ago that still hurt her, but she didn't let him.

"Don't," she whispered, looking at him. "Don't apologize. Not for that. I needed to hear someone say it. I needed to hear that what I was doing wasn't working it. I need to _thank_ you, Ron, for saying it." Embarrassed, Ron tried to look away, but before he could, Hermione had knelt on the ground before him, grabbing his hand, forcing him to look down at her and hold her gaze. "I lied to McGonagall to thank you," she whispered. "For showing me what I was doing wrong and giving me a reason to fix it. I wouldn't change that day for anything, Ron, because it made you my friend, and I wouldn't give up knowing you for _anything_."

Something passed between them in the next moment, as they held each other's gaze. Then Ron broke the heavy silence, saying softly, "Get up, Hermione. Please, don't humble yourself to me." She did as he asked, breaking the grip of his hand on hers in the process.

Silence surrounded the pair again, but it was not a comfortable silence.

"I'm proud of what you've done this year, Ron," Hermione said suddenly, as much to break the silence as anything. Ron looked at her, startled. Hermione continued, no longer embarrassed by what she was saying because she knew there was no time, like Harry had said. "It's like Harry said, isn't it? We don't say what we need to often enough. The final battle is coming closer, and I don't want it to come without saying that. You've saved my life twice this year, Ron, and I owe you for it."

Ron snorted. "Come off it, Hermione. Even if it worked that way, which it doesn't, I think it's safe to say that I can save your life about a dozen more times, and then we might be even." Ron's voice was gruff with embarrassment, and the tips of his ears had gone red. "In truth, I'm more indebted to you than you can know," he said, softly. Gently, she covered one of his large hands with her small one. He looked up at her.

The need to say something else filled him, and while he knew what he _wanted_ to say, he didn't know if now was the time to say it. "Hermione," he faltered. Then, knowing he had to get this out in a rush or it would never come out at all, he went on. "Hermione, I couldn't stand to be in anyone else's debt. And I know I can't promise that this is all going to turn out all right, for you or me or Harry, but I – I can only promise that I'm going to do my best to – to – the fact that you're proud of me, it's all I could ever ask for, it's –" But he didn't know how to say it, and it frustrated him. Cursing slightly, he turned angrily away, angry at himself and his clumsiness and his lack of courage when it came to speaking his mind.

"Ron, I –" she started, but she was not able to finish her thought either, for at that moment, Harry, still asleep, let out a terrifying moan and began to thrash. With worried glances to each other, they rushed to his side, calling his name softly and shaking him, but they could not wake him. "Ron, I can't wake him," Hermione said, her voice strained with worry.

"If he's in the middle of one of those dreams, I don't think we'll be able to," he said, frowning.

"Then what can we do?" she whispered.

"Wait," he said heavily. "Wait, and make sure he doesn't hurt himself." And with that, he began clearing the area around where Harry lay, still moving about as though trying to wake himself.

"It's starting, isn't it?" Hermione whispered, but she wasn't really asking Ron. She didn't expect an answer. In truth, she didn't need one.

* * *

Chapter Six up soon! Please review! 


	6. How it Begins

Chapter Six! Things are getting exciting! . . . well, okay. _I_ think they're getting exciting. Hopefully there are other people who think so, too. Hopefully.

DISCLAIMER: Because of JK Rowling, we have some vague idea of how LIly and James died. Though I have fleshed it out here, I am not arrogant enough to state that it is what really happened. We're all waiting until the 21st to learn what did. Me as eagerly as anyone else. Ergo, I do not already know, ergo I am not JK Rowling, ergo these characters are not mine. Savvy?

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Six - How it Begins

"_What is it, Lily?" asked James, coming into the darkened nursery. _

_Lily sighed good-naturedly at the baby on her chest, but she was frowning. "He won't go down," she told her husband. _

_James frowned; such behavior was unlike his son. "He's fussy?" he asked, worried, but Lily shook her head. _

"_No," she said. "No, he isn't really. He goes into the crib all right, but he starts shouting when I try to leave."_

"_Hey there, Scamp," James said, taking his son from Lily and holding him up in the air. "You causing trouble?" The black-haired baby giggled, but it lacked his usual strength, as if even he could sense the thickness in the air. James, too, tried to put him down in the crib, but as soon as he started to leave, the boy was standing in his crib, reaching out and crying, "Da!" and whimpering. "Harry," James said, going back to the crib and picking him up again. _

"_See?" Lily asked him. James nodded. _

"_Well, then, Scamp, I guess you win," James said to Harry, holding him up. "But just this once, hear me?" James mock-scowled at the boy, who gave him a sleepy grin. "Just this once you can stay up with Mummy and Daddy and see what the grown-ups do after you go to bed. We'll start a fire in the fireplace and cuddle under a big blanket and drink hot cocoa." Lily had to smile, watching her husband carry the baby out of the room and down the stairs. James made such a good father, and at moments like these, she could hardly believe that the "bullying toe-rag" she had once gone to school with was the same man here with her now, babytalking with their son. _

_But even as she smiled, she felt tears prick the back of her eyes. If only it could be this simple. If only it could be this serene. If only it could go on like this forever. _

_Blinking the tears away, she followed her husband and son downstairs. James sat on the sofa, settling the infant on his chest, and patted the cushion beside him. Lily shook her head and kissed him over the back of the sofa. "I'll get the cocoa," she said. "He should be out pretty soon."_

"_We could just wave a wand, Lils," James pointed out, but Lily shook her head._

"_Tastes better the Muggle way, and you know it."_

"_Well, we'll let Mummy do it her way," James said to Harry. "We'll let Mummy hold on to her silly Muggle traditions. You and I know better, right Harry?" Lily swatted him lightly on the shoulder. _

"_Keep that up and you _will _have to conjure up your own cocoa, and then we'll see whose is better," she told him, heading for the kitchen._

_James chuckled, and Harry looked up at the vibration. James looked down at his son with pride and love, more than he'd ever thought he could feel for anyone. "I love you, Harry," he whispered, kissing the baby's forehead. Harry snuggled into James' shirt, eyelids drooping. His left thumb found his mouth, and soon enough he was sucking away, fast asleep, his right fist clutching at the folds of his father's robes. _

_They sat that way for a few minutes, until James became aware of another sounds from the kitchen, one apart from the oven or the clinking of mugs. Suddenly tense, he sent out silent probes, checking all the protective spells around the property, but they were intact. No, this was something else. _

_Carefully, so as not to wake him, James set Harry on a blanket in front of the fire, setting a protective ward around it, and headed for the kitchen. _

"_Lils?" he called softly, crossing the threshold. She was leaning against the counter; indeed, it was all that was holding her up. Her shoulders heaved and tears coursed down her face. That had been the sound he had heard; she was sobbing._

_In two strides, he had crossed to her and taken her in his arms, feeling her shaking frame all through him._

"_Shh," he said, rubbing her hair and back and she sobbed into his chest. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he said, more to say anything at all than because he thought it would comfort her. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?" he asked gently, only to have her shake her head, but moments later, he heard a muffled reply._

"_I don't want to die!" she sobbed, and he held her tighter, bone-deep sadness filling him with her words. "I'm only twenty-two, James, and I don't want to die!" _

"_I can't promise you that it isn't going to happen," he said softly, because he'd promised her months ago that no matter what, he'd be honest with her. "You know what we face, as well as I do."_

"_I know," she whispered. "I'm just so scared," and she sounded well and truly lost as she said it. _

"_We're all scared, Lils," he told her. "I'd be worried about you if you weren't. Only a fool wouldn't be scared, and I know you're not a fool. We're all scared."_

"_But you're _not_!" she insisted, lifting her tear-streaked face to his for the first time. "You and Sirius, you – you joke about everything all the time; you aren't afraid! I feel so – so _weak_, being scared like this, but I can't help it!"_

_James gave a little laugh then, he couldn't help it. He wasn't laughing at her or her worries, he was only laughing because he didn't know what else to do. "I'm flattered, Lily, that you think I'm strong enough to not be afraid."_

"_But–"_

"_I'm terrified, Lily," he whispered. "See this?" he asked, holding up his hand, which was trembling. "I haven't stopped shaking for weeks." And she reached up to grasp his hand in hers, he went on. "Of _course_ Sirius and I laugh about it; we don't know what else to do. And I'm terrified that if I stop laughing about it, I won't be able to start again."_

"_I'm so scared of what's going to happen, James," she whispered. "I don't know why, but . . . I feel like we can't run anymore." She couldn't look at him as she admitted this; it was something she'd only admitted to herself. "I can't help feeling like we're running out of time, and that we aren't going to get another lucky break. And I feel as though I have to be strong, even in the face of knowing this, put up a face, and I can't let it drop, or I'll just break –" Her breath hitched. _

_Frowning with worry, angry at himself for not seeing sooner, James put one hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back. She resisted looking at him; he waited. Finally, her eyes flickered up, glistening with tears. _

"_Lily," he said, "surely you know you don't ever have to pretend with me."_

_She shook her head, smiling sadly. "Not for you, no. For me. I have to pretend for my own sake, James. Or I'm lost." He wiped away her tears then, gently, and she leaned into his palm, eyes closed. "I don't want to die," she whispered helplessly, tears spilling over again. _

"_All I can offer you is this, love. If you're dead, it's more than likely that I am, too."_

_Her eyes flew open. "Is that supposed to be comforting?" she asked him._

"_No," he said simply. "Just the truth." He leaned down then and kissed her softly. "Maybe you never should have married me," he said then, not looking at her, but looking past her, out at the night sky. "Maybe you'd be safer now. Maybe you wouldn't be facing death." _

"_James," she said, her soft voice scolding him. He glanced at her. "If someone came now and gave me the chance to have a guaranteed long life in exchange for never having met you, I wouldn't take it. I wouldn't give up knowing you for _anything_, James, not even if I knew I would die tonight. I love you. And I'd rather die tonight, loving you, than live out a long life alone."_

_He pulled her roughly to him then, blinking back tears of his own. "Me too," he whispered into her hair. _

_They stood like that for a long moment, then James spoke again. "Now, enough of this morbid talk," he said to her. "You get that cocoa, and come back to the living room, and we'll stay up late talking like we used to, in the days before baby." Managing a smile, she nodded._

_A short time later, the two of them were snuggled under a blanket on the sofa, cradling mugs of hot cocoa, watching the fire in the fireplace flicker._

"_I predicted this, you'll recall," James said suddenly, glancing at his wife, who was frowning in confusion._

"_I beg your pardon?" she asked._

"_I predicted this," James repeated. "You, me, the cozy scene, the baby, the wedding rings. Oh, yes, I predicted this long ago." _

_Lily's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "To what exactly are you referring?" she asked him. _

"_Summer before fifth year, in Diagon Alley." Lily's mouth dropped open from incredulity. "I told you that you and I would marry one day, and you laughed at me," he told her smugly. _

"_I love listening to you tell stories from your past; the most interesting _fiction_ is created," Lily said._

"_You laughed at me," he insisted, "Laughed, and assured me it would never happen."_

"_I did not!"_

"_Did so."_

"_I did _not_," she said again, swatting him lightly. "I _said_, that if it were ever to happen, you would have to grow up, which you did." _

"_If you say so," was his maddening reply. Lily shoved him then, and he responded by laughing, snaking an arm around her, and planting a kiss on her cheek. Lily allowed herself to be held, resting her head on his shoulder. "Anyway, whatever the circumstances, I predicted this, and did so correctly. I always knew I should have gotten a higher grade in Divination."_

_Lily snorted and snuggled closer to her husband. "Thank God for Remus," she muttered. _

"_I knew it!" James exclaimed suddenly. Lily sat up and looked at him with an arched eyebrow. Taking his empty mug from him and placing it on the floor with hers, she asked, "What _are_ you talking about?"_

"_The end of seventh year," James said. "I made him promise not to interfere. I always _knew_ he had broken his promise." Lily sat in mild confusion, trying to place that particular argument. Once she had remembered the incident to which her husband was referring, she shook her head._

"_No," she said. "_That_ wasn't Remus." It was James' turn to look inquisitive. She shook her head again. "It wasn't. That time was Peter, didn't you know?" James' eyebrows shot up._

"_Peter?" he asked, incredulous. At Lily's nod, he gave a low whistle. "Peter, wow," he said. "No, I didn't know that. I always assumed it was Remus." After a slight pause, he peered at her again and asked, "Peter?"_

_Laughing, she nodded. "Yes. I was surprised too, I assure you. He found me after the N.E.W.T. party and was quite emphatic. He told me flat out that I was in love with you whether I realized it or not, and that if I was so determined to deny fate and push you away, I was headed for a pretty lonely and unhappy life." James gave another whistle._

"_I knew there was a reason he was my friend," he joked. "But what were you thanking Remus for then?"_

"_Remus is the one who convinced me to give you a real chance."_

"_When?"_

"_You remember sixth year, when I . . . catalogued your faults for you quite thoroughly?" she asked softly, a slight blush gracing her cheeks._

"_How could I forget?" he asked blandly. Her blush deepened. _

"_Well, not long after that argument, he found me and talked to me. He convinced me to take a closer look, to keep watching. That was the night I found out your secret."_

_That piqued James' interest even further. "How?" he asked._

"_Oh, Remus mentioned that I had no idea what you'd done for him, what you'd given up. He said if I knew, I would never doubt your selflessness, and I would know the real you better. I knew it had to be something huge. I sat with a piece of paper by the fire with your names and nicknames written down. I looked for connections between the nicknames and the huge sacrifice. I knew if you'd made it, chances were Sirius and Peter had, too. I told you once that I write of things I don't understand, because if they're on paper, staring me in the face, I see things I don't see normally. Once I'd figured out Moony, the rest became clear."_

_James stared at her, new respect blooming. "You're one of the cleverest people I know," he said tenderly, reaching out to stroke her hair. "What else don't I know about you, I wonder."_

"_I've written my sister a letter every week since I left for school first year," she said softly in response, not looking at him. While he was still trying to understand what she'd said, she raised her eyes to his and said, "_Every_ week, James." _

_She sat, tense, waiting for his response. "For eleven years?" he finally asked._

"_Yes," she whispered. He looked away, nodding, a frown creasing his forehead. "Except the times when I was home. And I haven't now since Harry's birthday. Since we went into hiding. That was the last one."_

"_Why?" he asked softly, and she was relieved to hear only curiosity in the question, no anger. _

"_Because I had to," she said, looking away, not sure she could explain. "I had to. Stopping the letters would mean I had given up hope that we could be the way we used to be, and I wasn't willing to do that."_

"_Even after the funeral?" he asked, an edge of hardness in his voice now. "Even after what she said to you?"_

"_Especially then," Lily whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes now. "They're my pretend, James. They're the games we used to play when we were young, before the letter, before Hogwarts, before magic was real. I need that. I need to have a place I can go and pretend that my sister doesn't hate me." _

"_Has she ever written back?" he wanted to know._

"_Once. At the end of seventh year, when she told me not to come home." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his face blacken, and she turned to him, entreating._

"_I don't ask you to understand, James," she said. "I know you hate her on my behalf, and almost, that's easier, because I don't have to. Because I _can't_! She's – " She swallowed a lump in her throat. "She's my sister," she whispered, quieter. One tear made its way down her face. "I can't give up on her."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because she was right," she said simply, and looked away. "She was right. I could have come home, when my mother died. I could have taken three hours, Side-Along with a teacher. Dumbledore himself offered to take me. I said no. But I could have gone. It wasn't impossible, it was just inconvenient." More tears were coming now. "The truth is, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to be with people who didn't understand. She was right. I made my choice that day. My mother understood. But I knew Petunia never would." She looked back at her husband, green eyes glistening. "She was right, James, and that's why. Maybe she doesn't have a right to hate me, but she has a right to be angry. I didn't try hard enough because I didn't want it badly enough." _

_She looked at him, silently begging him to explain. He softened visibly, looking at her. Tenderly, he wiped away her tears and kissed her softly. _

"_You're right," he said. "I don't have any siblings, so I can't understand." He stroked her face lightly. "When all this is over, you can try harder with her."_

_Lily got a pained look on her face. "James," she said and shook her head. He closed his eyes then, lines of pain etched on his face, making him look far older than his 22 years. "I need her to know him," Lily whispered, looking at her sleeping son with love and sadness, "because he's going to her."_

_James' eyes snapped open, and he looked at Lily as if she'd slapped him. "He goes to Sirius, if something goes wrong," he whispered harshly._

"_James, anyone in the wizarding world who knows what's happening with us thinks Sirius is our Secret Keeper!" Lily stressed. "If something goes wrong, if he finds us, they will take him away, and you know that. Godfather or not, he'll be seen as a criminal, a traitor. If they get to Peter and kill him, the truth will die with him, and after Sirius, our chosen guardian, Petunia is the closest blood relative. James," and here she locked eyes with her husband, "if something goes wrong, he goes to Petunia."_

_And James knew she was right. "You think it will happen?" he asked, strained. Lily's tears started anew._

"_I don't see how it can't," she choked out, and James pulled her roughly and tightly to him. Looking past his wife, at his sleeping child, James felt as if a part of his heart was being torn out, to picture his child in that woman's home. At yet, he also saw now the inevitability of that picture. _

_James had no idea how long he sat there, holding his wife as she cried. He only knew that when the crash sounded outside, the clock approached midnight. Eyes wide, both he and Lily's faces turned toward the sound. Then their gazes snapped to each other. In their bones, they both knew what was starting. Their eyes each spoke unmeasurable sadness and fear. _

_In a flash, Lily had stood and scooped up Harry, who awoke and whimpered, as if he, too, knew what was about to happen. James held his wife and child in a death-like grip, eyes screwed shut with the knowledge of what he had to do now. _

"_James," came Lily's voice, shaking with tears and fear. She looked up at him, helpless and tiny and lost. He tried to smile, but couldn't. Instead he kissed her fiercely, pouring all of himself into that kiss. _

"_Go," he whispered. She shook her head, clutching at his robes as the sounds from outside grew louder and more threatening, more insistent. _

"_No," she said. "No, James, no. Please. Not without you." She knew if she left now, she would never see him again. She _knew_ that._

"_You have to," he whispered, stroking her face, her hair. "You have to take Harry and go. Get out." His voice grew stronger with every frantic word. "Get to the Grove. Disapparate. Find safety. Find help. Let them all know what's happened."_

_Wordlessly, she held Harry out to him. He did not take the infant, but he smoothed a hand over the boy's untamable hair and pressed a kiss to his son's forehead. "I love you, Harry," he said, and there were tears in his voice. "Don't forget your da, Harry. You're my son, and I will always love you. Always." He flinched as he heard the sound of the outside gate splintering away, and he knew he was running out of time. "Lils," he whispered. "I love you. I love you."_

"_I love you," she said in response, and they shared one last kiss, one they knew would be their last. "I love you, James," she said. He nodded._

"_Now, go," he said, and released her, taking steps away. "Go! Lily, take Harry and go! Run! I'll hold him off!" And then he fled the room, to meet Voldemort face to face when he came through the door. _

_A sob escaped Lily as she did the same, fleeing up the stairs and barricading herself in the nursery. Running to the desk, she grabbed a quill and scribbled a message, knowing she didn't have much time. _

_Albus,_

_He's here. He found us. I'm making the sacrifice. Harry must go to Surrey; it's the only place he'll be safe now. Please give this to my sister. _

_Goodbye old friend,_

_Lily_

_Hurriedly, she attached the note to the owl's leg along with her short note to her sister that she'd written weeks ago, and with a muttered spell of concealment, she sent the owl off into the night. By now, she could hear the sounds of battle downstairs. Still clutching Harry to her, she began to sob, because while James was holding his own now, she knew in her bones it would not last. _

"_Ama?" Harry said, reaching up with a grubby hand to swipe at her cheeks. "No ky, Ama. No ky." Giving a watery laugh, she pressed a kiss to his forehead._

"_No, Harry. You're right," she told her son. "I mustn't cry. I know what must be done." He looked up at her as she spoke, looking for all the world as if he could understand her. "I'm not making an escape. I can't protect you that way. So I'm doing what I must. I'm making the sacrifice. It's the only way you'll be safe. And though I will no longer be with you, my dear child, I will always love you. I will always watch over you. You must be strong," she whispered through her tears. "Though we part now, you must be strong for what is ahead. I love you, my beautiful boy. I love you."_

_From downstairs, she heard a shout, and from under the door, saw a flash of hideous green. A sob escaped her again, for she knew that her husband was dead. And she knew her own time was almost run. She wrapped Harry in a blanket, muttered a silencing charm over him, and hid him behind the dresser. Another bundle of blankets lay in the crib, looking convincingly like a sleeping infant. It was a pathetic dissemble, she knew, but every step she could take, she would. _

_Then the door was blown open, and the force of the spell knocked her to the ground. When she stood again, he was there. All her tears were gone now, and she was filled instead with a bizarre peace. She would be with James again soon, and Harry would be as protected as she could make him._

"_Give me the boy." The voice was cold and hard. _

"_No," she whispered. _

"_Fool," he spat at her, taking another step into the room. Lily made sure to stand between him and the crib, blocking the 'baby' from his view. "You can accomplish no good with this. You need not die. You need only give me the boy."_

"_I won't," she said. _

"_Make no mistake, girl, I will kill you, and I will do it and think no more of it. That is how important you are to me, Mudblood. Your life means nothing to me; your death will mean as much. Now _give me the boy_!" he shouted at her, brandishing his wand._

"_Never!" she shouted in return. "Not Harry!"_

"_Think about what you're doing," he warned her. "You have the chance to walk away. Die if you wish, but I will have the boy."_

"_Then kill me," she said. "Because that is the only way you will _ever_ touch my son!" _

_He swept past her, a flick of his wand pinning her to the opposite wall. He grabbed the blankets from the crib, only to find that they were only blankets._

_He rounded on her. She stumbled forward, his first spell gone, but now he was pointing his wand at her again. She braced herself, but instead of the Killing Curse, pain filled her. It brought her, screaming, to her knees, but she was past the point where physical pain could truly impact her._

"_Tell me where he is!" Lord Voldemort demanded._

"_Don't kill him," she said, kneeling before him, pretending to beg. She had to make sure the sacrifice worked. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" _

"_Stand aside, you silly girl, now, and tell me _where he is_!"_

"_Not Harry!" she pleaded. "Take me! Kill me instead! But please, have mercy! Don't kill him! Let me take his place! Kill me instead!"_

_He grabbed her by the front of her robes and hauled her to her feet. "So be it," he whispered, voice deadly, and then green light filled the room. He dropped her, and she crumpled. _

"Ama_!" Harry shrieked, the silencing charm falling from him as its caster fell, lifeless, to the ground. _

_Smiling wickedly, Voldemort turned to see Harry crawling from his hiding place toward his mother, scarcely paying heed to the tall man in the room with him. _

"_Ama," Harry whimpered, nudging his mother's body, tears filling his eyes. _

"_You want your mother?" Voldemort said in a high voice, and now Harry saw him for the first time. He looked up at the Dark Lord, lower lip trembling._

"_Ama go," he told Voldemort, and Voldemort laughed. _

"_Yes, Harry Potter," he said. "But do not worry. You shall be reunited before long." And his high, cold laughter filled the room as he turned his wand on the boy. _

With a shout, Harry sat straight up, scar searing with pain. Hermione and Ron both jumped back as he scrambled to his feet.

"We couldn't wake you," Hermione said in a weak voice.

"I couldn't wake myself," Harry muttered, dousing the fire with his wand. "Much as I wanted to." He pointed his arm into the air and a huge silver stag erupted from it and galloped away. "He's coming," he told Ron and Hermione, his dream still filling his mind, ears, and eyes. "Now." He stood before them, and grasped an arm of each. "The Order's been alerted, the Ministry will follow. I will lead Voldemort away from the rest of it. Whatever you do, keep the fight from entering the forest. In the fields, we have an advantage. In the trees, we lose it." He held each of their eyes in turn. "Whatever happens tonight," he said. " . . . I couldn't ask for better friends or companions than you. Good luck."

And with those parting words, he turned and ran into the trees.

* * *

I wish very much to hear your thoughts! Please, review!


	7. The Battle Begins

What? Two chapters in two days? I know! Heidi, you must be shocked! (If your name isn't Heidi and you're reading this . . . well, I wouldn't know, would I? Because no one else has been reviewing. : ( )

Well, yes! Two chapters in two days! And if you're lucky, chapter seven will be up tomorrow! How's that for efficient? I told you I may actually get this done before the 21st!

Please, forgive any small canon discrepancies. If they're there, they're probably unavoidable for plot reasons, and I apologize greatly. And hey. In sixteen days, this'll all be AU anyway. :)

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Got it? Good.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Seven - The Battle Begins

Ron and Hermione stood, watching Harry leave, mentally preparing themselves. This was it. After a long silence, Ron said, "Hermione–" but she shook her head, cutting him off.

"We have to get ready," she said, glancing at him briefly before hurriedly Vanishing evidence of their campsite. Ron moved with her, helping. Hermione, though she managed not to show it, was as nervous and jumpy inside as she had ever been. She had to fight to keep her hands from trembling. This moment was what they had been preparing for all year, yet now that it was here, she wanted to do anything that meant she didn't have to face it.

When all trace of the campsite had been Vanished, Hermione felt Ron touch her wrist. "Hermione," he said again, and somehow his touch made her even more nervous than she had been. But before either of them could say anything more, they heard the pop of Apparition.

Without thinking, the two of them snapped into the best fighting position for their situation. Ron stood behind Hermione and slightly to right, wand up. Hermione was slightly crouched, wand also out. Quietly, Hermione muttered the Identification spell. It had been adapted since Remus had developed it. Now Ministry members would appear in yellow and Order members in orange. Ron and Hermione both relaxed slightly as the approaching figures were outlined in orange.

"It's Remus and his team," Hermione said as she and Ron dropped the fighting position.

"We got the summons," Remus called when he was in earshot. "Report."

Hermione did so, explaining what Harry had said, outlining the plan of action for the fight.

"No sign of the Death Eaters yet?" Remus asked.

"Not yet," Hermione said, with a shake of her head. "If these dreams are what Harry says, I'm guessing they're giving us a chance to get into position."

Remus nodded. "I want to take one of you with this team, and leave one here to wait and brief the Ministry team."

"I'll wait," Hermione said, and Ron nodded his consent.

"Start marking the perimeter around the forest," Ron said to Remus. "We need to keep the battle out of the trees. We have one last preparation, and then I'll be with your team."

Shouting orders to his fighters, Remus and the Order crew headed off to the right.

"Hermione," Ron said, and there was urgency in his voice now.

"What is it, Ron?" she asked, looking anxious with everything about to happen. He looked down at her, helpless almost. He still didn't know how to say it.

"Just . . . be safe, Hermione, please," he finally said. She nodded.

"You better get going," she said. Slowly, Ron nodded, and Hermione turned away to scan the horizon, filled with jumbling emotions she couldn't sort out.

She thought he had left, but then she heard him growl, "No," so low that she almost didn't catch it. The next thing she knew, he had grasped her by the wrist and spun her back to face him.

Her mouth opened to ask what was wrong, but she never got the words out because in the next moment, he had pulled her roughly to him and covered her mouth with his.

She stood, stunned, as he kissed her, hard and fierce. Then he pulled away, his eyes searching her face, full of worry and fear and other emotions. She stared up at him, numb.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, his voice thick. "Remember that. Whatever happens, just . . . don't forget that." And then he kissed her once more, hard, and was gone.

She staggered back a step when he released her, mind spinning. What had just happened? She had to say something, _needed_ to say something, but he was gone. Slowly, the bewilderment left her, leaving in its place something much more solid. Her fear was ebbing away, too, as she stood there.

Those who knew her would have expected her to be angry with the redhead, and a part of her was, but she knew he hadn't kissed her and run away because he was too scared to face what came next. He had kissed her and left because that was all he had time for, and he had to do something.

She gripped her wand tighter, her face set now, determined. She would survive this, and she knew that Ron would, too. They would both survive. They had to. Now, _now_, finally, she had a purpose.

"I know what I'm fighting for," she whispered as another team of figures appeared on the horizon, these outlined in yellow. "I know what I'm fighting for," she said again, and then ran to meet the Ministry team.

"Identify yourself!" shouted the Head Auror of this team.

"I'm Hermione Granger, Potter's Team," she called, trying not to feel ridiculous about introducing herself that way. She knew how important the illusion was to the fighters. It wouldn't do for Ministry officials to know that three eighteen-year-olds were calling the shots.

She heard the muttered incantation that she knew would outline her in green."Auror McClane," he said, offering his name. Hermione nodded.

"Auror McClane, we need to get your people set up in pairs around the perimeter of the forest. Voldemort's forces will be arriving at any moment, and we need to be in position before they do. We must keep the battle from entering the trees at all costs. Disarm the Death Eaters in any way possible and confiscate the wands."

"And You-Know-Who?" the Auror asked.

"Harry Potter will lead the fight against him, drawing him away from our battle," Hermione said with confidence. The Auror nodded.

"More Ministry teams will be arriving periodically, and the FieldStations and Holding Stations are also scheduled for departure. You'll be fighting with us?" At Hermione's nod, he turned and began shouting orders to his team, when did as Remus' had and headed in pairs for the trees, Hermione with them.

A few moments after they were positioned, the first Death Eaters appeared.

And the battle began.

* * *

The dream stayed with Harry as he ran into the trees, following a worn path he'd only ever seen in a memory. Though awake, he saw flashes of pictures, the story of the night his parents had died continuing past dream's end. 

. . . _"Ama," whimpered the baby as he gently burrowed his way under his mother's limp arm to curl against her side, his face drenched in blood flowing freely from the cut on his forehead as the old stone house came falling down around them . . . _

_. . . The roar of a motorbike and the crunch of gravel as it landed and its rider jumped off and ran toward the ruined house. He pushed the door open against the pile of rubble that stood on the other side. With a cry of frustration, the man pushed with his shoulder and stumbled inside as the door gave way. In the ruined living room, the empty fireplace smoked gently. Two empty mugs lay side by side, chipped and cracked. And a limp hand was visible on the other side of the sofa, a gold wedding band glinting. "No," the man croaked . . . _

_. . . "Iri!" the baby shouted, trying to dive from the giant's hands to get to his Godfather. "Iri!" . . ._

_. . . "Please, Hagrid," Sirius Black croaked. "He's – he's my godson," came the helpless whisper. "I'm all he's got left." . . . _

_. . . He watched as the motorbike grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared from view. Then Sirius Black turned to the west, he eyes gleaming with malice. "Peter Pettigrew, you have crossed the wrong Black." . . . _

Harry shook his head roughly to clear it of the jumble of visions. A dilapidated house stood in an overgrown clearing ahead. The Gaunt House. Harry turned and looked over his shoulder back the way he had come. What was happening? Who had arrived? Was Voldemort here yet? How much time was left?

Voices came now, each fading in and out and tumbling over each other inside his head.

_. . . Of course it's that simple. The hardest problems have the simplest solutions. It's half of what makes them so difficult in the first place . . . _

_. . . Neither can live while the other survives . . . _

_. . . Ah, connections. They complicate everything, yet you'll never escape them, no matter how isolated you try to be . . . _

_. . . I'm making the sacrifice . . . _

_. . . It's not a question of the right answer, Peter. It's a question of the best answer. There will always be more than one right answer . . . _

"Stop it!" Harry growled, shaking his head again. "I get it, okay?" And he did. As the visions and voices clicked into place, they cemented into what he had known somewhere all along. He knew how to defeat Voldemort, finally, now. He knew what he had to do. And so, he trusted that, since the dream senders, whoever they were, were being so emphatic, they had guaranteed him enough time to wrap up what needed to be wrapped up.

He conjured a quill and a piece of parchment, and, leaning over the wood pile at the back of the Gaunt House, he began to write. For a few long minutes, the only sound in the clearing was the scratching of Harry's quill. Then he folded the parchment, addressed it, and stuck it in his pocket. Vanishing the quill, he leaned against the wood pile, resigned to his fate, and waited.

* * *

The battle was on in full force. If Hermione had been able to break away from her duel to look around, she would have seen battling pairs as far as her vision reached. 

But she was not able to break away from her battle. She was battling her third Death Eater, and they'd been at it for a while. At first glance, they seemed to be fairly evenly matched, but Hermione knew she was less skilled than her opponent. For some time now, she had merely been fighting for her life. Defensive spell after defensive spell, shield after shield, she couldn't find an opening to get in an attack of her own. It didn't help that the two confiscated wands in her robe pocket jabbed her in the side with every turn of her body. It also didn't help that she was getting tired.

She pushed the weariness away, even as the Death Eater forced her to take another step back toward the trees. Jet after jet of spell light came at her; time after time, she met it with her own wand. It seemed as if this would go on forever when she twisted hard to escape a curse, shoving a wand end into her stomach.

Distracted for the blink of an eye, it was unfortunately time enough for the Death Eater to get in one well placed hex. Hermione felt it hit her wand arm; her right side exploded with pain and her wand went flying. The next spell, the Cruciatus Curse, sent her crumpling to the ground, screaming.

She could hear the Death Eater laughing somewhere above her; the pain just went on and on. Dimly, she registered that her wand wasn't too far from her left hand, but she could not make herself move to get it. Even when the pain faded, the echoes of it sent her muscles into uncontrollable spasms. Slowly, cruelly, the Death Eater approached, and Hermione shut her eyes against the inevitable. She would never see Harry or her parents again, never see Remus or Ginny or any of her classmates. She would die here, and become just another who perished in service of the wizarding world. She would never get to tell Ron that she loved him.

As Ron's face bloomed into her mind, a spark of stubbornness flared up in her as well. If she was going to die, she would not lie on the ground and wait for it to happen. She wrenched her eyes open, prepared to die fighting, when she saw a spell come from the side, sending her Death Eater into a tree with a sickening crunch. Then Auror McClane was before her holding out a hand to help her up.

Awkwardly, she gave him her left, curling her right tightly to her stomach. "You all right?" he asked, breathing hard, nodding to her arm.

"I will be," she told him.

"You'll want to look at that first minute you get, girl," he told her. "Might be long –" But to Hermione's horror, he was cut off abruptly, a look of wide-eyed pain on his face. Shocked, she watched as he crumpled to the ground, revealing the Death Eater who had just killed him standing behind, grinning evilly. Without thinking, Hermione dived for her wand, and, scooping it up from the ground in one fluid motion, began to duel left-handed.

* * *

Percy heard the whispers flying around the upper levels of command. 'Death Eaters,' 'You Know Who,' 'battle,' and 'Harry Potter' reached his ears constantly. He tried to concentrate on his report, tried to do his job. His job did not involve fighting, and it was not concerned with He Who Must Not Be Named or with Harry Potter. 

But he couldn't help but hear and he couldn't help but wonder and he couldn't help but know with a peculiar certainty that he was the only Weasley son left behind. His mind, as hard as he tried to focus it on his report, kept jumping back to his family. _I don't have to worry about Mum, thank God, and she'll keep Ginny with her at the hospital_, he thought at one point. He knew about the baby because you didn't work at the Ministry or have a brother like Bill without knowing when something that big happened. _Bill's got to pull through this; he has experience, and he has a son to live for. Charlie will be at the scene in a flash – he and Dad will probably be in the first wave of Order members . . . Fred and George won't be far behind . . . and Ron's most likely been there with Harry from the beginning._

He hadn't spoken to his family since Scrimgeour had dragged him home that Christmas, but that didn't mean he didn't think about them all the time or worry about them. They were his family! He'd been close to going home and apologizing a few times, but . . . it had been so long now, and he knew the twins, Ron, and maybe even Ginny would probably never forgive him. The older members at least might see that he had done what he thought was right, but the younger ones would see only the betrayal.

And then there was the matter of that stubborn Gryffindor pride. The 'admit no wrong and never lose face' mentality. After all, an exchange of harsh words took two sides, and he wasn't the only one who'd believed the Ministry. After all, he _worked_ there! Right alongside Fudge, who told him in no uncertain terms that The Dark Lord had not returned to power. And if you couldn't believe the Minister of Magic, who could you believe?

_Your family? _came that small, cruel voice in his head. _You could have trusted them. Or Dumbledore. _

_My family made it crystal clear that they didn't believe I could earn a promotion on my own merit! They were so ready to believe me a spy, they couldn't even be happy for me! And Dumbledore was always unorthodox_, was his counter.

_But he didn't lie, _was the response. _He never lied. He withheld information, but he never lied. You yourself told Harry that the man was a genius. Did you only believe that because you wanted to be Head Boy?_

Shaking his head forcefully, Percy tried once again to concentrate on the assignment in front of him, but it was no use. The whispers wouldn't stop, so neither would the worries. Finally, he pulled off his glasses and set them on his desk, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

"Perce?" asked his office partner. Percy shook his head.

"The tension in here is nearly tangible, Will, can't you feel it?" he asked. The other man looked at him curiously.

"What are you on about, Perce?"

"The battle," Percy said grimly. "It's starting. There're . . . whispers. You don't hear them?"

"I hear them," Will said. "But there have been whispers all along, Perce. It's another battle." Percy shook his head.

"No," he said. "It's not just another. This one's big. This is _the_ battle, Will."

Will was silent for a moment. He'd been working with Percy for over a year, and he'd gotten to know him probably as well as anyone knew Percy. "You worried about your family?" he asked. Percy sighed.

"They're all out there fighting. All of them. And I'm sitting here."

"You're safe here," Will pointed out, but Percy shook his head.

"No, I'm a coward here. If our side wins, we'll be the ones who stayed safely away and then took all the credit. If their side wins, we'll be the ones who stayed safely away and let it happen." Will looked to his friend.

"Perce, they're not going to put you on a Field Unit; you're not trained to fight! Not everyone can be that kind of hero." But Percy was shaking his head.

"I need to know what's going on," he said, standing. He left the small office to find Scrimgeour. The man was once an Auror; if there was a battle against Voldemort, he'd be going, Minister of Magic or not.

Sure enough, Percy ran into him as he was leaving his office, barking orders. His office was alive with activity. Percy had to yell to get his attention.

"Sir!" he shouted. Finally, Scrimgeour turned to see him.

"What is it, Weasley?" he asked. "I haven't a lot of time."

"I - I need to know what's happening, sir. My family –"

Scrimgeour sighed. "Not a lot I can tell you, Weasley. Potter's team was at the site when He Who Must Not Be Named arrived. They called for backup from Lupin and the Order, who called for backup from the Auror Department. I don't know much more than that. I'm on my way to the Field now." He started walking, a clear dismissal, but Percy couldn't let it go at that. He followed the Minister down the long hall.

"Sir, if I could just –"

"Weasley, you will stay here," Scrimgeour said, leaving no room for argument.

"Sir, if I could just go find –"

"The answer is no," Scrimgeour said, looking over some papers an aid was showing him as he continued to stride down the hall. Frustrated now, Percy crossed in front of him, forcing him to stop.

"Sir, my family –"

"Is in no more danger than any of the others at the site," Scrimgeour told him in an effort to placate, but it only infuriated him.

"You mean in as much danger!" Percy corrected. "And there are more of us! Sir –"

"I am not sending you to the Field, Percy," Scrimgeour said firmly, moving past him. Percy followed.

"Let me go to my mother, then."

"No. You have a responsibility here," Scrimgeour said almost lazily.

"These are extraordinary circumstances!" Percy insisted, but Scrimgeour was having none of it. This time he stopped on his own and turned, his face stony.

"Weasley, you have a job to do. This Ministry does not stop because we are threatened. On the contrary, we need to be running smoothly now more than ever. You do not have leave to go anywhere. You have a responsibility, and I trust you will carry it out. Now, I must go. You, go back to your office and get back to work." Then he left Percy standing in the middle of the hall, fuming.

Watching the Minister walk away, Percy made a decision. He turned and stormed back to his office.

"Well?" Will asked when he came in.

"It's started and I'm going," Percy said, his face stony as he gathered things from his desk.

"He gave you permission?" Will asked in disbelief.

"No, in fact he forbade me to leave," Percy said, leaning over his desk and scribbling a note on a piece of parchment.

"And you're going anyway?" Will asked, shocked.

"Yes," said Percy, tapping the parchment with his wand so that it sealed seamlessly.

"How?"

"I'll find a way," he said, grabbing his cloak from where it rested.

"Perce," Will started, as if he was trying to form an argument to get Percy to stay. But Percy cut him off.

"I had to make a choice between my family and the Ministry once before, Will, and that choice resulted in me standing here today, the final battle commencing, not knowing whether or not my family is safe. Potter's team is at the scene, that's what he told me. Potter's team, it makes it sound like a band of highly trained professionals. That's what he wants people to believe."

"Isn't it?" Will asked, for that was how he had understood the mysterious Potter's Team. Percy gave a humorless laugh.

"No. Potter's team consists of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and my brother Ron. Three eighteen-year-old wizards. My family makes up half the Order. I will not be the brother who stays behind again, Will." Percy's gaze dared Will to challenge him.

Resigned, Will sighed. "Be safe, Perce," he said. Percy nodded.

"I'll try," he said, then left the office.

The corridors of the Ministry were alive with movement and tense energy. Percy strode purposefully toward the Apparition site in the Atrium, hearing an official looking wizard shouting, "There has been an Apparition Boundary imposed! None but authorized personnel are being given permission to Apparate in or out! We are in lock down, but the business of the Magical World is continuing! We have no news from the battle site, so do not ask!" Then he repeated himself.

Percy joined the throng of wizards all clamoring to get assigned to a team out. Percy knew that Will had been correct when he'd said that Percy would never be assigned to a Fighting Unit. That was why Percy had his back up plan ready. Approaching the official looking wizard, he held up the sealed scroll and said, "I was instructed to put this directly in the Minister's hands, sir."

"The Minister is already at the scene," came the reply.

"Hence, I am standing here talking to you instead of delivering it to his office," Percy said as witheringly as he could. "I believe it is of utmost urgency, and as I was instructed to deliver it personally, I will need to leave with the next available team."

The Official looked Percy up and down. "You trained in fighting?" he asked.

"I am not looking to fight; I am looking to find the Minister and do my job, which is, at the moment, seeing that this urgent message gets to Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour as quickly as possible. But feel free to hold me up here as long as you wish," Percy said, adopting his most officious air.

"No," the Official said. "But I'll send that message along with the Head Auror of the next team out. Surely you can trust him to deliver it sufficiently?"

After a moment's hesitation, Percy said, "Only if I put it in the Head Auror's hands. I will not be held responsible for this message getting lost."

So he was shuffled off to one side as the team assembled. He hoped the Head Auror of the next team was someone he knew. Then he might be able to hop along anyway. He was in luck. Auror Dawlish was heading for the platform. Percy watched the Official tell something to Dawlish and point in Percy's direction. Dawlish came over to him.

"Weasley. I'm told you have a message for me to deliver to the Minister?" he asked briskly.

"Dawlish, I need to come," Percy whispered urgently. Dawlish looked at him, frowning.

"It's in safe hands, Weasley," he said.

"No, it's not about the message; I need to be there, at the Field. My family –" But Dawlish was shaking his head.

"Absolutely not, Weasley. You stay here where you're safe. Let your family take care of themselves. The message, please." Resigned, Percy handed it over to him and watched the team disappear.

_Damn it!_ he thought, wondering what to do next. An earlier Percy might have given up and headed back to his desk, but now he couldn't. He couldn't. And so he asked himself something that he had never asked himself before. _What would Fred and George do?_

They wouldn't stand around here looking lost. They wouldn't give up. They wouldn't admit defeat. They'd be forming another plan. They'd be _doing _something.

Percy let his mind fly back to an order that had passed through his office some time ago. The Ministry had purchased a large amount of products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Percy had processed the order. _What did we buy from them? _He tried to remember. _Darkness powder . . . Shield Hats . . . Extendable Ears – That's it! _

Eavesdropping. It was that simple. Purposefully, he strode through the Atrium, and just let the voices filter to him.

" . . . no, no, Potter's team is fully trained, and has everything under control, I assure you . . ."

" . . . apparently the Death Eaters have some new curse. It's pretty nasty, and we don't have a counter for it yet . . ."

" . . . why waste your time? Plenty to do here, in any case . . ."

" . . . Level Three needs volunteers with fighter training to go to the Field. They're going to be working with the FieldWizards on site. You know, the special Healers. Apparently, they need as many hands as they can find . . ."

Percy took off for the lifts and headed to Level Three. If the Department of Magical Catastrophes was looking for as many able-bodied workers as they could find, surely they wouldn't turn him away. His training in fighting was only what every Ministry employee was required to learn, but he did know how to duel. And if he was assigned to one of their teams, hopefully no one would discover until it was too late that he had been ordered to stay at the Ministry by three high ranking officials, one of them the Minister himself.

He was breaking rules and defying orders, but he was past caring. This was an emergency; surely he would be forgiven these transgressions. And if he wasn't, well, if there still was a Ministry after all this over, and he was fired from it, he would just find a new job, a better one. For now, he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Harry was leaning against the woodpile casually when Voldemort appeared in the clearing. Apparently, the Apparition boundaries that Old Marvolo Gaunt would have kept in place had long since faded away. 

"Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered.

"Tom," Harry said, inclining his head. Voldemort's lip curled menacingly at the name.

"An interesting site for a battle," Voldemort said. Harry shrugged.

"I thought, being so close to two places so important to you, it would make you feel more at home." Voldemort's sneer deepened.

"Taunting me now, Potter? Do you really think that to be wise?" And now Harry straightened.

"We will end this, tonight, Tom," he said simply.

"I have no doubt," Voldemort replied. "Are you prepared to face death, Harry Potter?"

"I believe that question pertains more to you, Tom," Harry said, still keeping casual, still maintaining that necessary air of calm as he moved a few steps around the outside of the clearing. "You are, after all, the one who has been cheating death the longest. I daresay it has a great interest in you." Voldemort snarled and pulled out his wand.

"You have been a nuisance to me for far too long, Harry Potter," he said. "You are right to say that this shall end tonight. I shall finish you before this night is done, and no more will I be opposed."

"You will always be opposed, Tom," Harry countered. "But you will not be leaving this clearing alive today." He fixed the dark wizard with a level and steely gaze. "You made sure of that long ago." Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You heard what I said," Harry told him. "You will not be leaving this clearing alive, Tom, but your end will come not by my hand, but by your own actions."

* * *

"Ron!" Remus shouted, yelling over the spell cries and dying screams. Ron ran to meet the older man. Remus was bleeding from a shallow gash on his cheek, but otherwise was unharmed. "Word's spreading around the battlefield. The Death Eaters have a new curse – a manipulation of the Conjunctivitus Curse. Once it hits your open eye, it blinds you!" Remus glanced around them for any sign of approaching enemies. Seeing none, he went on. "If it hits you in the face and your eyes are closed, it'll just lie dormant until you open them. Watch out for it!" Ron nodded. 

So far, he had managed to escape serious injury, but he knew that couldn't be true for many others. "Remus, how fares the battle?" he asked. "Whose favor is it in right now?" Remus shook his head.

"I've no idea, Ron. Has there been any sign of Harry?"

"He was planning to confront Voldemort back in the woods, near the old Gaunt House. I don't know more than that." Remus nodded.

"All right." And the two men parted company, rushing to help where they were needed.

Up ahead, Ron saw a lone, unmarked figure sneaking toward the trees. "Stupefy!" he shouted, but the man was too quick. He whirled, and the spell missed him. Then he turned and engaged Ron in battle.

But Ron knew how to get the upper hand in dueling. He used simple spells, ones the Death Eaters had a tendency to underestimate, but ones that Harry had taught him could be deadly at the right time in the right combinations.

The duel raged fiercely, until Ron had the man under his wand, about to deal the final blow, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, a figure approaching the two of them. His eyes widened in shock when he realized who it was.

But his distraction cost him. The Death Eater under his wand managed to shout a single incantation. "_Conjunct Flammoria!_"

Instinctively, Ron shut his eyes.

* * *

If your name is Heidi, I await your review! If your name isn't Heidi, I'll be even more thrilled to get yours! 


	8. Full Circle

NOTE: Voldemort is _ridiculously _difficult to get in character. I struggled with his scenes for a long time, and I hope that, knowing this, you will be able to forgive anything that doesn't seem quite in keeping.

Harry also is difficult to get into character, and I've had people note that he seems, in my stories, almost too adult, too grown up. I disclaim in this way: In this story, Harry has a year that we don't see because I didn't want to try and write it. In that year, he did a lot of growing up. That, and, in this scene, he's not entirely responsible for the things that he's saying. Don't worry. Angsty Harry will be back in the next chapter.

I disclaim again: Not mine. Never have been mine. Ever.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Eight - Full Circle

"Fool," Voldemort hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you not realize that I could kill you where you stand?" Harry forced out a laugh.

"You could, yes," he said, arms crossed as he reclaimed his casual position, leaning against the wood pile. "But I note that you haven't. You haven't because," he paused for effect, "you want to hear what I have to say. You want to know what action it is of yours that I claim will be your end."

"If that is true, it is merely for my own amusement," the dark lord murmured coldly. "To glean from you what recompense I may, hearing your pathetic notions of my demise," Voldemort sneered, but Harry showed no reaction.

"As you will, then," he stated calmly. "You have made two main errors, Tom. Two fatal errors, as it were. The first is frequent underestimation." Here, Harry paused, pleased to see the Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he listened.

"Go on," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Time and time again, Tom, you have underestimated me, as you underestimated my parents and Dumbledore. That is why, after no less than five confrontations with me, we meet again, here, you the worse for those confrontations, while I have suffered no real harm from them."

"Luck," he growled. "And fortunate protections that you no longer have at your disposal. Or have you forgotten that your mother's pathetic protections are now mine as well and that your precious Dumbledore was dispatched at _my_ order?"Harry gave a grim smile.

"And there it is again," he said, allowing his voice to convey a subtle wonderment that he did not truly feel. He was walking a dangerous line here, for he needed to get the man angry and off balance, but not push him too far. A thin and dangerous line indeed. Yet some force was guiding him even now, letting him know how far to go, how to best infuriate the man before him. He almost laughed at Voldemort's assumption that he no longer had fortunate protections. "Underestimation. Do you really believe that Dumbledore was dispatched at your order rather than his? Yes, I think you would deny that until your very end, because admitting it would mean that one of your own was not truly under your control, and we can't have _that_ be true. And, Tom, you may share some of these protections by virtue of the blood you stole from me, but you underestimated the sacrifice that gave those protections because you underestimated what prompted the sacrifice."

"Love?" Voldemort spat. "Yes, Harry Potter, _love_ has served you very well indeed," he said, choosing to ignore Harry's remarks about Snape and Dumbledore.

"But it has," Harry said, perfectly serious now. "Look to the past, Tom, and you will see that it has. You yourself have suffered the ill effects of your underestimation so often, and yet you still will not acknowledge the power that something as simple as love has! And therein lies the secret. Simplicity, Tom. You have made the mistake of setting complexity equal to effectiveness. Something so simple as love is not even worthy of your notice! The more complex, the better! The more simple, the more dismissible. It's your first big mistake. Or have you not noticed that, for love of Dumbledore, you have had a harder time of it this past year? With Dumbledore gone, _at your orders_, the people have unified, united to fight against you. All because you underestimated . . . the sacrifice."

There was a long silence following this pronouncement, during which Voldemort's suppressed rage was an almost tangible presence. Calm but wary, Harry watched as he controlled it, some detached part of his mind noting that a year ago, he never would have noticed the slip of the dark wizard. He'd become much more attuned to people during his quest. He supposed he had the dreams to thank for that along with everything else.

"And my second mistake?" Voldemort finally asked him, and it was clear from his tone that he was torn on the asking. Part of him was longing to curse Harry into oblivion, but part of him needed to know the rest of what Harry had to say.

"You fear death," Harry stated simply. Voldemort sneered.

"Are you trying to tell me that you do not? That the great Harry Potter is above such petty feelings? That, indeed, you _wish_ for such a thing?"

"Fearing something and not wanting it to occur are two different matters," Harry said. "Do I _wish_ for death? No. I do not _want_ to die. I have much to live for. People who love me and whom I love. The life I want to lead. A future that is better, far better, than the present. I do not _wish_ for death. But _fear_ it?" Harry looked at Voldemort in question. "How can I?" he asked the man softly. "How can I possibly fear death when I know that so many whom I love are already waiting there for me? My parents, my godfather, my mentor, all sent there, to death, by your hand. How can I fear it, when I know I will be with them again?

"No, Tom," he said, his voice hardening as he straightened. "I do not fear death. I acknowledge it, something you have never done. And because you have never done so, because you have, in fact, taken such steps as to make yourself immortal, you have weakened yourself more than you can ever know."

"Weakened?" Voldemort said, laughing with contempt. "You say I have been weakened, Harry Potter? I, who cheated death seventeen years ago?"

And now Harry beheld him sadly, with pity. It surprised him, that wave of sadness. The fact that he felt it for this man was truly a sign of how much he had changed since that day Remus had taken him to the grove. _I'm no longer angry,_ he realized suddenly. _And I haven't been. Not for a long time. I truly _do_ pity him_. And so when he spoke, it was not with hatred or contempt. "Yes," he said simply, his voice full of regret. "A divided soul, even enclosed in vessels and kept alive with complex spellwork, is always weaker than a soul that is whole. Your act to make yourself immortal, strong, is the very act that has led to your downfall. Because your Horcruxes have been destroyed, one by one, and I know you know this, and you have not replaced them, both out of arrogance and out of an inherent knowledge that you cannot carve any more pieces off of that already diminished soul. The fact of the matter is, Tom, that at this moment, you stand here, the last shred of soul, merely a living spell. And all spells can be ended. All."

* * *

"You are not fighters, you are not Healers, you are Runners," Healer Ogton told the four Ministry officials who'd volunteered for the Field Units. "Your job is to find the wounded and get them back here. You're not here to join the battle, you're here to help clean up after it."

Percy nodded, glancing around at the two men and one woman who stood with him. They were behind the line of battle, but he could still hear shouted spells and see the wand lights flash across the night.

"If you are attacked," Healer Ogton was saying, "by all means, defend yourself. But try to avoid fighting if it is at all possible. We don't need to add to the casualty list. Do you understand?" The four nodded. "Are there any questions?"

"How do we distinguish Death Eaters from our people?" Percy asked.

"I'm equipping each of you with an Identifying Spell; our fighters will appear outlined in yellow. Now, that goes for Ministry officials and fighter teams only, understand. Order members will appear in orange. Anyone who is not associated with a color is not an authorized fighter at the scene – but this does not mean they are Death Eaters. Because of this fact, I am asking that you refrain from using any offensive magic. Defensive _only. _As for the wounded, Death Eaters are identifiable by the Dark Mark branded into the upper part of their left arms," he said, pointing to his own arm. "If you uncover a wounded Death Eater, bind them, remove their wands, and bring them back to the Station. Make sure someone _knows_ you've brought a Death Eater. Any more questions?" The four were silent. "Then go!"

Percy ran. He and the three others had already been given directions to go. The Field over which Percy ran showed the marks of battle. He saw several of the trees at the edge of the wood with scorch marks. _Someone was trying to keep the other side from entering the trees_, he thought. _But who?_

He slipped a little on the ground; there was very little grass left in some spots. Shouting came from not far ahead of him, accompanied by a bright blue flash that lit up the area around him. Forcing himself not to jerk his attention to where he knew the battle was raging, he ran instead toward where he had just seen a body, outlined in orange.

_Not one of us_, he thought frantically, hoping. But no; the person on the ground was a woman, and she had brown hair, not red. Kneeling beside her, he glanced around quickly for signs of attack. Seeing none, he allowed himself to focus on his first victim.

"Can you hear me?" he asked her, a hand on her shoulder. She moaned. "Open your eyes for me. My name is Percy, I'm going to get you to a Field Station, all right?" Slowly, the woman's eyes flickered open.

"I can't – I can't see you!" she said frantically, though her eyes darted back and forth where his face was. "Oh, God, I can't see!" She reached out with her hand, grasping at thin air, her breath escaping in ragged sobs. "Help me!" she yelled.

"Shh," Percy said, trying to quiet her, glancing around for signs that someone had been attracted by her shouts. "Shh, it's all right, I'm here," he took her hand; her fingers closed around his in a hawk-like grip.

"I can't see you," she whispered, panicked.

"I'm here," he reassured her. "I'm here."

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, tears flowing from her sightless eyes.

"No, I'm here to help you," he said again. "Can you stand?" He helped her to her feet, slinging one of her arms around his shoulders. "Lean on me; I'm taking you to a Field Station," he said in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Was battling – a Death Eater . . ." she gasped. "Almost had him . . . but he – a curse to my face – my eyes – when I opened them – " And they were at the Station. Handing the woman over to Healer Ogton with a quick brief as to her condition, he gave the woman's hand one last squeeze.

"You're all right now," he said.

"Thank you, Percy," she told him. Smiling sadly, he left, running back to the Field.

He helped several more back to the Station, always looking for any sign of telltale red hair; he encountered a few fatalities, but no one he knew.

On his seventh trip out to the Field, he went farther than he had gone before. Without realizing it, he had crossed the line of battle. The shouts of spells were suddenly much nearer than they had been. He froze, wondering if he should go back.

Then he saw the man outlined in orange, fighting another man with no color surrounding him at all. The Order member was holding his own, Percy saw, but then he noticed a movement above that the fighter had not, all his attention being concentrated on the man he was fighting. Percy watched in horror as the colorless man in the tree stretched out as far as he could, then reached into his robes for his wand.

Percy sprung into action. "On your left!" he shouted. "In the air!" The orange man jerked his head up in time to see the spell; he dodged out of the way, rolling on the ground. But the Death Eater was on him. Without another hesitation, Percy had his own wand out, shouting a spell at the Death Eater in the tree as he ran to the spot to be of further assistance.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted, and a jet of red light just missed the man in the tree. The man aimed a curse at Percy; he dodged it and shot another stunner into the branches.

This one didn't miss; the Death Eater fell with a sickening crunch. Percy turned his attention toward the battle on the ground. The Order member was up now, and holding his own, but not for long. The Death Eater aimed a kick at the man that sent him sprawling, and then aimed his wand at the fallen man's back.

Abandoning all sense of fair play, Percy attacked from behind. "_Impedimenta!_" he shouted, following that with "_Incarcerous!_" and "_Stupefy!_" The now-bound Death Eater crumpled to the ground. Percy hurried over, binding the other Death Eater for safe measure and taking both their wands. "Are you all right?" he asked the man on the ground as he tucked the wands into his belt.

"Yeah," was the grunted response. The man pushed himself up off the ground; Percy offered him a hand. "Thanks for that, I –" He stopped speaking, staring up at Percy. "_Percy_?" he said, shocked. Percy helped George to his feet, breathing hard from the run over.

"You _are_ all right? He didn't get you?" he asked his brother, wiping the back of a hand across his forehead.

George shook his head. "Not with his wand," he said, a hand to his side. If Percy had hoped his brother would be deferred, he was disappointed. "Percy, what the hell are you doing here?"

Percy sighed wearily. _That_ hadn't been accusatory at all. "Much the same thing you are, I would imagine, George."

"The Ministry didn't send you," George said, his face red. "We're not _that_ desperate!" Percy shut his eyes against the slur. He deserved that, he knew.

"No," he said softly. "No, I'm not here on a Fighting Squad. If I were, do you think I'd be here, behind the line of battle? I volunteered as a Runner for the FieldWizards."

"I thought they wanted trained fighters at the very least serving as Runners, not clerks," George threw at him, but Percy shrugged it off.

"Yeah, I fudged that a little."

"I'm still surprised they let you leave. Weren't there orders for people like you to stay at the Ministry?" Percy nodded, getting his breath back, looking down.

"A blanket order for all unauthorized personnel not to leave the Ministry. An Apparition boundary kept that in effect. And then, specifically, the Apparition Official, Auror Dawlish, and Minister Scrimgeour ordered me not to leave."

"Then what –" George started, bewildered.

Percy turned his head to look at his brother and stated simply, "I left anyway."

"Why?" George asked, his tone guarded.

Percy sighed. "Because all of you are out here," he said.

"And you wanted some of the glory for yourself, is that it?" George accused.

Percy sighed again, more deeply this time, weary. "No," he said simply, shaking his head. "Because, for whatever it's worth, I'm your brother. Because, even though you may rightly accuse me of coming late to the party, I'm finally seeing where my first loyalties should lie. Because I can't make the same mistakes again. Because family, and fighting for what is right, and doing what needs to be done because it's the right thing to do . . . it's more important than my job. And should have been all along. That's why I left, George, and that's why I'm here. Believe it or not, however you choose, that's the truth of it."

He stood straighter then, and, suddenly tired beyond belief, turned to go back to the Station, but George's voice stopped him.

"You left the Ministry despite direct orders from an Apparition Official, a top Auror, and the Minister of Magic himself?"

"Yes," Percy said, without turning around.

"You lied and tricked your way out of the Ministry, exploiting a weakness in the system to get out, because you knew the FieldStations were desperate for Runners?"

Percy turned to face his brother. "Yes," he said. George beheld him with an odd expression on his face. He shook his head in seeming disbelief.

"Do you know what you've done?" he asked softly.

"What?" Percy asked.

"You have made it impossible for me . . . to not be impressed with you," George said slowly, "And I was determined to never be impressed with anything you did ever again." Percy, who had looked away at the start, now jerked his head back to his brother, not quite daring to smile. George looked embarrassed, and, after a slight hesitation, shrugged awkwardly. "Better late than never, right?" he asked, and then Percy did smile.

He opened his mouth to thank his brother, but the words died on his lips with his smile when he saw the figures approaching where they stood. Three figures, all devoid of shimmering color. They were outnumbered. George turned and followed his gaze.

"Damn," he whispered.

"George, do you know back to back dueling?" Percy asked, his eyes not leaving the approaching Death Eaters.

"A little," George said. Percy nodded.

"Yeah, me too. If I say 'cover,' . . ."

"Yeah," George agreed.

And then the Death Eaters were upon them, and the air was thick with flashing spell lights and shouted incantations. The brothers managed to hold their own, but just barely. And Percy could sense they were losing ground quickly. Then one of the Death Eaters got behind them.

"Cover!" he shouted, and felt George snap into place. They were fighting back-to-back. Percy had had very little training in this kind of dueling, but he had a feeling he'd gotten more than George, and right now George was fighting two while Percy was only handling the one. And there was no way to switch their positions. Finally, _finally_, Percy was able to get a well placed jinx past the Death Eater's shields, and then, taking advantage of his distraction, Percy dispatched him. "Break!" he shouted, whirling to help George.

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. Percy glanced George's way in time to see George's Death Eater hit him with a spell that sent him flying. While George was picking himself up, the Death Eater advanced, a malicious grin on his face. He pointed his wand at George, who hadn't yet picked himself up enough to see it coming.

Without a second thought, Percy shouted and ran to block the space between his brother and the Death Eater, just as a jet of sickly purple-black light left the Death Eater's wand. It hit Percy full in the stomach.

Pain consumed him. He crumpled to the ground, barely holding on to consciousness. He heard George shout his name and forced himself to open his eyes. George was fighting his Death Eater in earnest now, trying to get to Percy. And now the other was advancing from behind, and George hadn't seen him. Fighting the pain in his stomach that was slowly spreading to the rest of his body, Percy groped for his wand.

George finished the Death Eater, and started to run over, just as the one behind him raised his wand for an attack. Summoning his last shred of strength, Percy choked out, "_Immobulus_!" freezing the Death Eater in place. Then he fell back onto the ground, coughing spasmodically.

He heard George Stun the Death Eater and tie him up. Then George was kneeling beside him. "Perce! _Perce_!" he shouted. Percy forced himself to open his eyes and focus on his brother. "You said you're here with a Field Station? There's one close by, yes?"

"Not close enough," Percy gasped. He saw fear and panic in George's eyes, and hated to add to it, but there was no choice.

"What – what do you mean, not close enough? I'll take you – or-or . . . get someone, or –"

But Percy was shaking his head, fighting another bout of coughing. "It'll be too late, George. It's too late already. I'm dying." George shook his head.

"No, no, Perce. You're not. You're gonna be fine." He tried to hoist him into a sitting position, and managed to get Percy's head propped up a little by whipping off his cloak and bundling it under his head.

"George, listen to me," Percy gasped, but a fit of coughing overcame him. He turned away from George, who pounded on his back. A moment later, they had subsided. "George,"he started, but George cut him off.

"I'm going to find help," George said frantically, moving to stand up, but Percy grasped his hand and pulled him down again.

"No, George!" he said as emphatically as he could. "I'm telling you . . . it's . . . too late. I . . . need you . . . to tell Mum . . . Dad . . . everyone . . . that I'm . . . sorry," he gasped. "For everything."

"Percy," George said, one hand now stroking Percy's forehead while the other grasped Percy's own hand. "You're – you're gonna get through this, you – you have to," he whispered. Percy shook his head feebly. He was getting weaker and weaker.

"It was a . . . spell of decay, George . . . very powerful . . . not meant for humans." Another fit of coughing seized him. Gasping for breath, he went on. "Very powerful . . . if it's not . . . caught in the . . . first three minutes . . . no stopping it . . . it's too late." His sides heaved, and he turned away just in time.

Each cough racked through his whole body, pain shooting through him. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and saw blood. He lay back, limp and gasping.

"Percy," George whispered, tears pricking his eyes, not knowing what to do and hating it. "You – you can't . . . please . . . not now."

Percy smiled, his eyes closed. "I don't mind . . . going like this . . . now, George. I . . . found you . . . and . . . for the first time in my life, maybe . . . I did the . . . the right thing. I . . . helped you . . . protected you . . . like I should have done . . . ages ago. . . I wish . . . I wish I could say it was . . . for a reason . . . that I was all along . . . spy for the light . . . but it was just . . . my stupidity . . . and stubbornness . . . I was wrong . . . all along, I was wrong . . . but now . . . now I fought for . . . for what I believe in . . . for family . . . and you . . . it's enough . . ."

"Perce," George whispered through tears, trying to find some comfort to offer. Percy forced his eyes open and met George's gaze.

"Listen – you have to – survive this, George. You – have to tell them – I can't . . . you must. Tell them . . ."

"I - I will," George whispered. He ran a hand down Percy's cheek. "I promise." Percy relaxed, his breathing ragged and harsh now.

"Thank you," he gasped, his voice so soft George had to lean in to hear him. Percy gave George's hand a feeble squeeze. "Let me go, George . . . please . . ."

"Perce," he said. "I . . . I forgive you."

Percy let out one last, long breath, a serene look on his face, and then went limp.

George looked at his brother's body, not wanting to believe he was really gone. Slowly, Percy's form became obscured by tears, and George had to look away. His gaze fell on the Stunned Death Eater who had hit Percy with the Decaying Curse meant for George. His numbness turned to anger, hatred, boiling up inside him.

Laying Percy's hands gently on his chest, George stood, his face hard, anger and hatred coursing through him. He glanced once more at his brother's body. "For you," he whispered, and then he ran, ran towards the battle and any Death Eater he could find, determined to avenge his brother, no matter the cost.

* * *

Voldemort laughed. "Even should that pretty speech happen to contain truth, Harry Potter, I don't see how you can use it to your advantage. Your goal is, of course, to rid the world of me, but you cannot do that without submitting yourself to a similar fate."

"I know," Harry said quietly, and there was silence following his words.

"You are hoping, of course, for another miraculous escape," Voldemort sneered. "You will not find one, Harry Potter. You will die, or you will live that cursed life you say has made me weak, though you will not have my advantage. You will not have a second chance at life. By destroying me, you shred your own soul, yet you are willing to do that and look upon it as strength, I suppose. But seeing the way you categorize that choice, perhaps there is a fate waiting for you that _would_ prompt you to choose death instead!"

Harry looked at the man who had been his enemy for as long as Harry could remember. He looked at the spiteful man before him, who could never understand, and he grieved, for he had come to understand the lesson that Dumbledore had tried to teach him. The world had made this man what he was. The wizarding world was responsible for the making of this evil, all of the wizarding world, even those who renounced the Dark. Harry looked upon him and grieved.

"I am sorry you cannot understand," he said, his voice once again full of regret.

"What?" Voldemort snapped, taken aback by Harry's response.

"I am sorry," Harry said again, and then, looking directly into Voldemort's astonished eyes, he added, "for everything." And then, before Voldemort had time to do anything, Harry had whipped out his wand and pointed it directly at the Dark wizard's chest. He shouted a single incantation twice in rapid succession. The first spell shattered through Voldemort's hastily constructed shields. The second hit the wizard square in the chest.

Time seemed to freeze as Voldemort looked up at Harry in bewildered shock. Then the dark lord crumpled as the last shred of his soul shot away from its encasement. Harry had a breath's time to feel satisfaction that it was all finally over before he felt an immense pain as his soul, connected to Voldemort's by a shining thread, was pulled from his body.

As the two souls sped away, a shockwave swept powerfully over the forest and battlefield, knocking any and all alike to the ground as the pieces of souls he had clipped from all the Death Eaters followed him away into the sky.

In truth, all this happened so quickly that as the bodies of defeater and defeated alike fell to the ground, the words Harry had shouted at the end still lingered in the air of the clearing, if any had been there to hear them.

Two words, echoing in the night air, one of the simplest incantations of all.

_Finite Incantatem!_

* * *

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. . . please?


	9. A Different Kind of Seeing

Okay, nine days. Nine days and approximately four more chapters . . . I can do this. Right? I know you're saying Right! and I thank you for your vote of confidence:)

DISCLAIMER: sigh Okay. I didn't come up with it. I know, right? Shocked. But it is still true, I can assure you.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Nine - A Different Kind of Seeing

Hermione stood shakily, her injured right arm tucked close to her side. Almost in shock, she turned slowly to view the Field. All around her, members of the Ministry and the Order were also climbing shakily to their feet, though all the Death Eaters were lying, unconscious, where they had landed. What had happened?

"Hermione!" She heard someone shout her name and turned to see a witch with bright pink hair hurrying toward her.

"Tonks, what happened?" Hermione asked.

"What didn't happen last time," Tonks answered cryptically, breathing hard. "He's gone, Hermione. Wherever Harry is . . . he did it."

Hermione stood and let that sink in for a moment. Gone. Voldemort was gone. Harry had won. "You – you're sure?" she asked. Tonks nodded.

"As sure as we can be without Harry to confirm it. But look at your Death Eater's arm," Tonks said, nodding to the unconscious man sprawled on the ground nearby. Hermione knelt and rolled up his sleeve. The telltale Dark Mark was faded, now no more than a pale gray stain on the man's flesh. "It's not gone, because a mark like that never fades, but it can't ever be awoken again. He's gone."

For a moment, Hermione simply remained kneeling by the man. Then she stood, closed her eyes, and grinned in relief, feeling a weight fly away from her shoulders and chest. A shaky laugh escaped her, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Tonks smiling at her in a knowing way.

"Feels great, doesn't it?" she asked quietly. Hermione nodded, then turned serious.

"How many of our people did we lose?" she asked the woman. Tonks ran a hand through her hair.

"I don't know, Hermione. I know there are dead from our side, but I don't know who and I don't know how many." She noticed Hermione's curled arm. "Are you all right?" she asked in concern. Hermione glanced down.

"I stopped the spread of it," she said. "And a Healer will be able to fix it up."

"Then to a FieldStation with you," Tonks ordered her. Hermione shook her head. Where was Ron? She needed to find Ron.

"I've got to find the others."

Tonks laid a hand on her arm. "Get Healed, Hermione. Sooner rather than later. You'll be better able to search." Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, noting the sense in the Auror's words. "Good girl." And she pushed Hermione in the direction of the nearest Station. "If you find any other wounded, take them with you!" she called at Hermione's retreating back.

Hermione hurried toward the Station as quickly as she could, scanning the dark ground for any of their people, red-heads in particular. _Find Ron . . . _her running footsteps seemed to pound out on the ground. _Find Ron . . ._

Yards ahead of her, she saw him. A red headed man, lying face-down on the ground, not moving. She froze, while at the same time, the vision seemed to rush toward her.

"_Ron_!" she screamed, and ran toward him, hitting the ground almost before she had reached him. As she reached toward him to turn him over and see his face, he moved, turning on his own.

"Sorry, Hermione," he groaned, and he struggled to push himself up on one arm. "Right family. Wrong brother." She sat back, hard, on her heels, her terror ebbing away, leaving exhaustion and shaking in its wake.

"Fred," she said in a sigh and rubbed her eyes. She helped him into a sitting position, walking around him in a crouch so she could see his face. She winced in sympathy when she saw the nasty gash slashed across his forehead. She reached out almost instinctively to touch it, then realized what she was doing and pulled her arm back sharply. "Nasty spell," she said, nodding to his forehead. Fred glanced up.

"This?" he asked. She nodded. He put a hand to it, then winced and hissed in pain. "Wasn't a spell. A spell I could've blocked."

"Then what –" she started to ask.

"A knife," he said ruefully. "A plain, ordinary, non-magical, bloody knife." He rolled his eyes, then winced again. Hermione stifled a laugh. "Yeah, go ahead, make fun," he said. "Merlin knows George will. Speaking of which," he said as Hermione helped him to his feet, "you haven't seen George, have you?"

"No," Hermione told him as he looked around for his wand. Finding it, he bent down to retrieve it and nearly fell over again.

"I'm okay," he said quickly, as Hermione grabbed at him to keep him from falling over entirely. "Just a little joke." He tried to walk away, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Yes, your impression of a drunkard is very good indeed," Hermione said dryly as she grabbed him around the middle with her good arm before he could topple to the ground. "But save it for parties, yeah?"

Nodding, with a finger pointed to her in consent and an arm draped around her shoulder for support, they made their way to the Field Station, Hermione trying to keep up conversation because Fred looked as though he might faint at any moment.

"Didn't George come with you?" she asked.

"Yeah, but we got separated shortly after our arrival," he said. "I'll kill him. It's hard to put our double dueling strategy into effect when half the double wanders away. Drops the double to a single and creates a need to double the single so that it's a double again."

"You haven't seen any of your other brothers, have you?" she asked him, worried. She was asking both because he may have and also because she needed him to hang on to coherency as long as possible.

"No, sorry," he said. "I'm the only Weasley I've seen." They had reached the Station. A Healer hurried toward them.

"Names?" he asked.

"Granger, Hermione," she answered.

"Weasley, Gred – no, uh, Forge," Fred answered, trying to get his eyes to focus properly.

"Fred," Hermione answered for him. "Knife to the forehead. Blood loss and . . ." she glanced at the twin, _"slight_ disorientation," she informed the Healer. The Healer nodded, shining his wand light in Fred's eyes. Then he muttered an incantation, and Fred blinked several times.

"Ah, that's better," he said, looking around.

"Mild concussion, moderate abrasion to the forehead. You'll be fine," he informed Fred. "My assistant will fix you up while I tend to your friend here." Hermione held out her arm and answered the Healer's questions as best she could. While he performed tests and spells on her arm, she engaged Fred in conversation again.

"Now that you're . . . fully aware," she said, "you haven't seen any of your family?" Fred shook his head.

"Not since George and I got here. But then, I haven't really been looking for them until now." Hermione nodded, looking away. She knew she had no real reason to panic, but she couldn't help it. She wouldn't rest easily until she knew for sure who had been lost and who had been hurt.

Feeling Fred's uncharacteristically considering gaze on her, she forced her attentions back to him. "Look, Hermione," he said suddenly. "I don't want to pry into your private life, except, you know, for sport, but I have to ask. Has that little brother of mine finally come to his senses and told you how he feels about you?"

Hermione was shocked by the question, especially coming from Fred. "Who, George?" she asked facetiously, trying to mask the shock. Fred rolled his eyes.

"No, as you know perfectly well, but thanks ever so for _that_ image, Hermione. Ron is the brother I was talking about. I certainly hope none of the others have gone about making declarations of love to you."

"I – well, yes, if you _must_ know," she told him, trying not to blush, but not succeeding. "Just before the battle started. Grabbed me and kissed me," she muttered darkly, "and then took off before I had a chance to say _anything_ back." Fred looked mildly impressed.

"Huh. I didn't know he had it in him." Hermione glared in his direction. "It's about time, is all I meant. I'm tired of him pussy-footing around this."

"Pussy-footing?" she asked him, making a dubious face at his word choice.

"I have a concussion; it's affecting my mind," he said with a shrug.

"I'm sure," she said.

"Miss Granger?" said the Healer. She turned to him. Her right arm was bound in a sling. "I've done what I can for you. I removed the long-lasting effects of the curse, and bound the arm for easier healing. You should retain full range of motion."

"Thank you," she said with gratitude. He waved his wand at some loose bandage, which rolled itself up and flew to a nearby shelf.

"I want to check you and Mr. Weasley over very quickly, to ensure that there are no hidden curses causing damage, and then you can join the cleanup and rescue teams."

"Have any other Weasleys been treated here?" she asked him as she and Fred stood from the cots as he scanned them with his wand.

"No, miss," he said with a shake of his head. "But there are three other Stations set up around the Field where the wounded are being treated."

"Thank you," she said again, though this time with less gratitude. Once the Healer had given them the all-clear, she and Fred began circling the Station, to see if they could find anyone in charge who might have more information.

"_Fred_!" they heard someone shout. Turning, they saw Remus running toward them.

"Remus?" Fred asked. "What's the –"

"Thank God I found you," he said, gasping.

"What is it?" Fred asked, worried and showing it.

"It's George," Remus said. Hermione saw Fred freeze as all the blood left his face.

"What?" he asked, not seeming to understand.

"It's George," Remus repeated. "He's in a bad way and we need you." He started running back the way he came, but Fred didn't move. "Come _on_!" Remus said urgently, turning back and grabbing at Fred's sleeve. He pulled him to the other side of the Station, Hermione at his heels, where a stretcher was just being brought up by two more Healers.

"Healer Anderson!" one of them shouted. "Urgent, over here!" The Healer who had tended Hermione and Fred left the wounded woman he was working on with one of his assistants and ran over to the stretcher. Drawing level with it, Hermione gasped, her good hand flying to her mouth.

It was George, and he was as pale and as gray as a corpse. His robes were covered with blood, and what little of his hands and arms she could see were nearly completely torn up. His ashen, waxy face was eerily untouched. He didn't appear to be breathing.

Remus was explaining what had happened as quickly as he could. "We don't know much," he told a completely shocked and frozen Fred. "He's got several curses working at once, overlapping and mingling dangerously. He needs more advanced treatment than he can get here, but he can't be transported in this state; they don't think he'd survive the journey."

Fred didn't seem to understand what he was being told. He just stood, staring at his twin, not knowing what to do. Remus looked to Hermione, obviously worried. "Fred," he said, and got no response.

With another look toward Remus, Hermione grabbed the front of Fred's robes with her good hand and shook him roughly. "Fred, he's dying! _Do something!_" And she pushed him toward his twin.

He stumbled to the ground, kneeling beside the stretcher. The Healers moved out of his way.

"George," Fred said, or tried to; not much sound came out. "George," he said again, and this time it was stronger. "George, you – listen to me, you can't – wake up, George. Wake up." Remus and Hermione stepped away, watching. There were tears in Hermione's eyes.

Fred reached out as if to grasp his twin's hand, but stopped when he saw there wasn't much left to hold. He let out a stifled sob, and it was all Hermione could do to keep from sobbing along with him. The air had grown very still, as all around just stood by and watched.

"Wake up, George," Fred said again, weakly, then, "Damnit, don't do this to me!" he yelled. "Don't you dare do this to me, damn you, don't you dare!" Hermione could see Fred shaking from where she stood behind him. Fred leaned over the stretcher until his face was even with his brother's. "Wake up!" he shouted. "You can't leave me, George, you can't!"

Fred threw his head back, shaking tears from his vision, then returned to his former position, hissing desperately at the body beside him. "Come on," he said, quieter. "I don't – I can't be Fred without you," he whispered. "I don't know how. I've never been just Fred, I don't know how to be. I'm not just Fred; I'm Fred and George, and I can't be that without a George." A sob escaped him. "Please," he whispered, pleading. "Y - you gotta stay with me. Who else is gonna keep me in line and make sure I don't get into too much trouble? Who else is gonna hold me back before I do something completely stupid? I can't be Fred without you," he repeated. He watched, his eyes anxiously searching his twin's face for some sign of life.

"Don't you _dare!_" he shouted again, after finding none. "Don't you _dare_," he hissed, tears now streaming down his face. "You've always hated it when I pulled rank on you because I'm thirteen minutes older. Don't make me do that, George, please! You're my little brother; I have to protect you! Please," he whispered raggedly, rocking back on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. "Please don't make me fail at that. Please don't die." Another sob. "Do you know what'll happen to me if you die?"

And he couldn't say any more. He buried his head in his knees, not knowing anything else he could say, not willing to believe his twin brother could be about to die.

Silence surrounded them all; even the forest behind them seemed to be holding its breath. All that could be heard were Fred's ragged sobs, then –

"Mum'd kill you," came a voice, almost to weak too be heard. Fred's head snapped up, his eyes fixed on George's face. And then George's eyes weakly fluttered open, and he attempted a smile.

A sound escaped Fred, half a sob and half a laugh. "Yeah," he said weakly. "Mum'd kill me. You wouldn't let that happen, would you?" George shook his head to either side the tiniest amount.

"Someone has ta . . . look out for you," he said thickly. "Can't look . . . out fer . . . y'self . . ." George's smile was stronger this time.

Fred wiped traces of his crying from his face. "No," he agreed. "Though I did better than you. God, what happened, George?"

George looked away, his face laced with pain. ". . . Percy," he muttered, and Fred wondered what on earth he was talking about.

"Percy?" he asked, bewildered. "Percy's fine, George. He's sitting comfy and safe at the Ministry." There was a hint of bitterness. George shook his head as emphatically as he could.

"No . . . listen," he said. Fred shifted position to let the Healers around the stretcher while still talking to George.

"George, Percy's fine," he repeated. "What happened to you?"

"Trying to . . . tell you," George said, frustrated.

"I'm listening," Fred said.

"Was . . . here, Fred. At the . . . battle. Took a . . . a curse . . ." Fred shook his head in confusion.

"Who?" he asked.

"Percy!" George stressed, his voice becoming stronger as the Healers' spells took effect. "He came here, Fred . . . left the Ministry, disobeying orders . . . he came here."

"Why?" Fred asked, still bewildered.

"To . . . apologize." Fred rolled his eyes. "Listen to me!" George said, and Fred did, a little frightened at his twin's tone of voice. "We fought together . . . there was a curse . . . and he . . ." George looked away, blinking back tears of his own now. Fred felt a weight large and heavy as a rock drop into his stomach. "He took it, Fred . . . it should've hit me, but . . . he took it."

"Did –" Fred licked dry lips. "Did someone see to him? I mean – if he's hurt –" But a look from George was all he needed. He shook his head.

"He's gone," was all George said. "Saved my life . . . by giving up his . . ." George said, needing to get all this out as quickly as he could. "Wanted to apologize. Tell Mum and Dad and all of us. That he's sorry." Fred sat numbly, nodding because he didn't know what else to do.

"That's it!" said one of the Healers. "Prepare for immediate transport to Mungo's!"

Fred suddenly became aware of all the activity surrounding them. "George," he said as the stretcher was lifted. He tried to stay beside it, but he was pushed out of the way. "No!" he shouted.

"They're taking him to St. Mungo's," Healer Anderson said, holding Fred back. "They can't take you on this transport; they've got a full crew." Fred struggled against him.

"He's my twin, damnit! He –"

"You'll be on the next crew out, I promise!" Healer Anderson shouted. Fred stopped fighting.

"George!" he yelled.

"You have to . . . tell them all," George said as loudly as he could as they carried him to a transport station. "If I can't . . ."

"You will!" Fred shouted. "You're going to be okay! Trust me!"

And then they were gone.

Fred stood, staring at the spot where they had been, George's words echoing in his ears. _He came here, Fred. . . left the Ministry . . . we fought together . . . there was a curse . . . he took it . . . saved my life . . . by giving up his . . . he's gone . . . _

Gone. Percy the Prefect. Percy the prat. Big Head Boy. Family traitor. Stuck up, studious, quiet, officious Percy. Percy, who was always telling on the twins. Percy, who was always playing mother. Percy, protective. Percy, awkwardly loving. Percy, his brother. Gone.

_He took it . . . . saved my life . . . by giving up his . . . _

Slowly, George's words sank in. Percy was gone. The brother Fred had thought he would hate forever. He was gone. Dead. Killed. After saving George.

Anger, grief, fury, hatred all rose up in his throat like poisonous bile. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, couldn't think.

_. . . saved my life . . . by giving up his . . . saved my life . . . _

_. . . he's gone._

"_No_!" Fred shouted in rage suddenly, his anger, grief, fury, hatred, and resentment finally spilling over. He lashed out, fury covering grief covering pain masking the hurt and betrayal he thought he had gotten over. In a blind rage, he kicked a cot that stood nearby, wanting senseless destruction, wanting to tear things apart even as he was being torn apart. "_No_!" he screamed again, and then someone was there, someone was with him, grabbing at his arms. He wrenched away.

"Fred," a voice said quietly, but he couldn't listen. He wouldn't. The hand came out to touch his arm again. He jerked away again. "Fred . . . he's gonna be okay. The doctors at St. Mungo's are the best," Hermione said, trying to be comforting. "You'll have your brother back in no time. You aren't going to lose him."

Fred couldn't take it. He couldn't handle it. She was wrong! She thought he was worried about George. She didn't understand. He'd stopped being worried about George once George woke up. George was awake; he'd be fine.

"Fred," she said again, more urgent, more frightened. "Fred, talk to me."

He couldn't – he couldn't be the one. He just stood, trying to stop the thoughts that were spinning insanely in his mind, trying to focus. He shook his head numbly.

"Fred," she said, frowning, trying to get him to look at her. "Fred!"

"I can't," he said, not really paying attention to her. Why couldn't she leave him alone? He needed to be alone, away from everyone . . . he needed to think, he needed to escape . . . he needed to wake up. He tried to push past her but she wouldn't let him. He tried to evade her grasp, but she wouldn't let him. He let out a growl of frustration, the angry churning of emotions rising again at her obstinate persistence.

"Listen to me," she ordered. "George will be –"

"It's not George!" he finally growled, cutting her off.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. He tried to take advantage of her distraction by pushing away again, but with reflexes born of a year of strenuous training, she grabbed at his wrist and wouldn't let him.

"Get off!" he shouted.

"No," she said, unyielding.

"Get off!" he shouted again, and again she refused.

"No, not until you tell me what's going on!" she said, maddening and stubborn. His temper rose again.

"Let me _go!_"he screamed, trying to pull away, but she held fast.

"What happened?" she demanded. When he didn't answer, she went on, twisting his arm to keep him from running off. "Did something go wrong with George? Is it worse than they thought?" Every word she said cut at him. She didn't understand. She thought she did, but she didn't, and he couldn't take it anymore.

"_No_!" he shouted. "Not George, Percy!"

"What about Percy?" she asked, and he lost his hold on it all.

"_The bastard went and got himself killed, that's what!_" he screamed, the words ripped from him. "And he went and saved George before he did, so I can't even hate him for it!" And this time he did wrench away from her, because she was so shocked at what she had heard that her hand went limp. He aimed another furious kick at the cot, overturning it this time, before sinking to his knees in the churned up ground, his anger ebbing away, leaving only grief, pain, and the harsh, unescapable truth.

His brother was dead. The very last brother Fred had expected to lose in all this. He had worried, though he would never admit it, about Dad, about Bill and Charlie and George, and especially about Ron. But he had never worried about Percy. Percy was the one of them who was safe. Percy was the one of them not constantly in danger. Percy was the one brother he had never needed to worry about. And it was Percy who was gone.

She didn't try to find anything to say to him, and for that he was glad. There wasn't anything to be said, or at least, nothing that would bring comfort or be anything other than patronizing and infuriating, so her understanding silence was a relief, as was the fact that she could just be there kneeling on the ground beside him, her good arm around his shaking shoulders, without _having_ to say anything. She was comfortable with silence in a way that not many people were. _Ron's lucky to have her_, some strangely disconnected part of his mind whispered.

_Ron . . . _his mind jumped wildly. _Ron, Charlie, Bill, Dad, we don't know if any of them are still alive! I have to find my family!_

He was up and on his feet in an instant, Hermione standing quickly as well. "Fred, what–"

"The rest of them – all my family – I have to find them, Hermione!" He looked around wildly, trying to find a place to start. What was he doing, standing here like a shell-shocked idiot? He needed to be moving, he needed to be engaged, he needed –

"Fred, listen to me," Hermione said in that infuriatingly calm voice she had, forcing him once more to look at her. She looked him straight in the eye. "You need to go be with George now, Fred." Fred shook his head.

"I – I have to –"

"Crew's leaving!" came a shout.

"That's you, Fred," Hermione told him firmly. "Go to St. Mungo's." Fred looked at her desperately.

"Find him, Hermione," he croaked. "Find my baby brother. We can't lose another one." The last was almost a whisper. Hermione nodded.

"I will, Fred," she promised, then gave his arm a squeeze and pushed him in the direction of the leaving crew.

"I have to find Ron," she whispered as the group of six disappeared from the Station.

* * *

Harry was speeding along, pulled by that shining silver strand, taunt between his form and the form he knew belonged to the last shred of Voldemort's soul. He couldn't have escaped it if he had wanted to; not that he didn't want to, but he had meant what he'd said to Voldemort, as he was resigned to this fate. Granted, he knew that an eternity spent where Voldemort was likely to be spending it was likely to be completely different than one spent with his parents, but . . . well, he would deal with that when the time came.

It was funny, really. He knew he was dead, but . . . at the same time, he didn't feel as he thought he would feel when he was dead. Not that he'd given it much thought. It was a strange sensation, being dead, heading to wherever it was the dead went to, without any real say in the matter. He didn't know how to describe where he was. The closest he could come to it would be to say that they were flying through the sky, but he knew they weren't really; it was another kind of awareness, not the same as the place he had left. There were others, besides himself and Voldemort, other dead, and Harry knew they were coming from the Field. With a little effort, he could tell who they were, or rather, who they had been, simply by virtue of being the same as they were now. All in all, unsettling.

With a jolt, he noticed that they were picking up speed, though how he knew this, he couldn't really say. There had been no landmarks in this strange place, no way to tell the pace at which they were moving. But he knew they were speeding up. And then, in the distance, Harry saw something. Scrunching up his 'eyes,' he strained to be able to see what it was, fear suddenly and inexplicably pricking at his heart.

Quickly, too quickly, they were approaching a stone archway, a gateway suspended in the middle of the nothingness, and from it hung a tattered black veil, fluttering in the non-breeze.

Harry panicked, struggling against the link that connected him to Voldemort's soul. He pulled and strained against it, but it was no use. He could not sever the bond; he could not even stretch it. And the veil drew closer and closer, and somehow Harry _knew_ that if he passed through that veil, still attached to Voldemort's soul, there was no chance, short of a miracle, that he could escape Voldemort's cursed eternity.

It was one thing to finish the man, knowing that the curse present on the last piece of his soul would attach the destroyer to it. It was quite another to be facing it.

The veil was getting closer and closer, and now he could hear the whispers. He strained against the bond even harder, _knowing_ he had to break free before they passed through that veil. He pulled against the silver strand as hard as he could, but it was no use. He could not break free, and before he knew it, he had passed through the veil.

Desperately, he shut his eyes and threw his hands out, hoping for anything that he could grab hold of, anything that could give him some purchase under his fingers. When several pairs of hands grabbed him, however, he screamed and thrashed worse than ever. The hands were pushing him down even as Voldemort's soul was pulling him up, and as much as he didn't want to go up, he knew he couldn't go back down. He _had_ to die! He couldn't let the strangers send him back to life!

He heard their voices, heard them calling his name, but he kept his eyes and ears closed.

"Harry!" one of them shouted, right in his ear, but he was determined not to listen.

"Let me go! Let me _go_!" he shouted, the first words he had spoken since dying. He tried to push up, using the ground beneath him as leverage. _Wait – ground? _he thought, confused. There had been no ground before.

The voice used his confusion to its advantage. "Harry, dear heart, sweetheart, _please_ stop fighting us! We're trying to help you!"

There was something about it that was familiar to him, but he couldn't place it. His mind whirled in panic and pain, not knowing what to do or who to trust. "Sweetheart, lie still," the voice was saying. "Lie still; we're trying to help you. We're trying to cut this cord, to keep you here, but you've got to lie still."

Something in him, some part of his soul that was long forgotten, urged him to trust that voice. And amid the other shouting voices, he was aware of someone holding him, and he heard the shadow of a whisper.

_Ama . . . _

"Quickly! Sever the bond! Before he goes through!" yelled the voice of the one who held him.

And then Harry's world narrowed to the pain in his chest. It felt to him as if a very powerful someone had a string tied around his ribs and was trying to pull them out through his skin. He screamed with pain, writhing on the ground, no longer able to feel the arms holding him or to hear any of the voices.

It seemed to go on forever, and he felt more and more stretching, more and more impossible pressure as the bond resisted all efforts to sever it, until, with the high, piercing _twang!_ of a snapped harp string, the silver cord shattered, coiling back into Harry's chest so quickly it burned.

At last, quiet descended. He lay there, limp and panting in the aftermath, the echo of that pain, worse than a hundred Cruciatus curses. Finally, it began to subside, to fade away, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Only to find himself looking straight into them. He blinked a few times and realized, no, he was not looking into _his_ eyes, just into a pair very much like them. Another blink, and the face the eyes belonged to swam into view.

"Mum?" he whispered, and Lily Potter smiled down at her son and nodded. Harry closed his eyes again, in mixed exhaustion and relief and sadness, and his hand came up to clutch at her sleeve as he took some more deep breaths.

"Oh, Harry," she said, stroking his hair away from his forehead. "You've done it, Harry. You've done it." Harry forced himself to open his eyes.

"Yes," he said, nodding, struggling then to sit up. What he saw made him freeze, then look around again, slowly, in mild confusion. He knew this place, but . . . "How are we in the Grove?" he asked his mother, for that was where he found himself.

"We aren't," came another voice before Lily could answer. Harry turned his head to see a man who much resembled himself sitting casually on a rock against a tree.

"Dad?" Harry asked, and James inclined his head toward his son with a half-smile.

"In the flesh," he said, then furrowed his brow slightly. "As it were," he amended, earning a small smile from his son. "This place isn't usually the Grove," James commented, looking around at the scene before him. "Must be your doing," he said to Harry, crossing his legs and arms as he did so.

"My doing?" Harry asked him, looking around for a place to sit that was not quite so close to that fluttering veil. "How?"

James shrugged. "Who knows how this place works?" he asked. Harry now saw that "this place" was not quite the Grove he remembered. For one thing, there were six large stones placed conveniently at the bases of six large trees, forming six relatively comfortable chairs. For another, the Grove hadn't contained a stone archway.

In every other particular, however, it was the same.

"Not that we normally spend a great deal of time examining the scenery," came a new voice from the stone directly beside Harry. He didn't need to turn this time to recognize who it was.

"Sirius!" he said, and he did turn to see his godfather smiling at him. "What are you normally doing, then?" he asked.

"Watching you," Sirius said, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Keeping track of your progress down below." Harry peered at the three of them. The fact that he was keeping company with them proved sufficiently that he was indeed dead, but he still wasn't certain where he _was_. It didn't seem as if any of his fellow dead souls had followed him through the veil.

"Watching me?" he asked. "You're not ghosts . . ." It was more of a statement than a question.

"No," Lily said. "We're not ghosts. We're . . . Waiters."

"I don't understand," Harry said.

"To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." And this was a new voice altogether. Where an empty stone had stood only moments before, there was now the figure of an old, old man with a long white beard and a twinkle in his eye. "One of my wiser phrases, if I do say so myself."

"Professor," Harry said quietly. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"If a person's only options after death, Harry, were to become a ghost or to move on, it wouldn't be much of an adventure, now would it?"

"I suppose not," Harry conceded. He looked around the small clearing. There had been six seats, and five were now taken. The sixth yet remained empty, but Harry thought he knew who would eventually take it. "But what are waiters, then?"

"One of a souls' other two options," Dumbledore said. "Most souls, upon reaching the Veil, have a choice before them."

"Not all," said Sirius quickly.

"No, not all," Dumbledore agreed. "Some are assigned. Tom will not get a choice; he will be sent on to answer for his deeds in life for he has cheated death too long as it is. And Watchers do not get a choice in the matter, though knowing the nature of Watchers, it _is_ what they would choose to do in the end. But most souls are given a choice," he said again, returning his attention to Harry. "They can return to earth in spectral form. They can also move on past the Second Veil to answer for their deeds in life. If the person, while living, was involved, body and soul, entirely in one purpose, a purpose left unfulfilled upon their death, they must return to earth to ensure that it is carried out. Once it has, then they return to the Second Veil to pass on."

"Then some ghosts are Watchers?" Harry wanted to know.

"No," Dumbledore said. "Few people can see Watchers, which is why many of them Watch for many an age. The last option is to become a Waiter, to Wait in the realm between the Veils. To view the actions on the earth below and help in such small ways as are permitted, waiting until other loved ones can move on with us, or until some purpose that needed our aid is fulfilled."

"We are Waiters, Harry," Lily said, one hand resting lightly on his arm. "And it is you we have been waiting for."

* * *

Remus hurried among the aftermath of the battle, helping where he could, but looking, always looking for one of the people he desperately needed to find. As Head of the Order, unfortunately, he couldn't avoid the questions. Also, unfortunately, he had as few answers as anyone else. All he could tell them was that Harry Potter had succeeded in defeated Lord Voldemort, and no, he didn't know where the teenage fighter was.

He had met with the Head of the Auror fighters and the Head of the FieldStations, but luckily, he was not charged with telling the families of the deceased of their loved ones sacrifices, for which he was grateful. Percy Weasley was hard enough.

But there was someone he had to find, a question he needed answered. Despite what almost everyone must think, that person was not Harry Potter.

Remus' mind spun as ran hurriedly across the battlefield, from one body to the next, looking, always looking.

It was in the rows of defeated, deceased Death Eaters that he found him. As cold and white and dead as the others. Remus stared down at him, a lump in his throat, his mind flashing back to a scene that happened not all that long ago. And now, here he was. Defeated, but not before he had shown his true colors, for the last time.

"Mr. Lupin?" came a voice, and he turned to see an Auror approaching. "Is there something you need?"

"This man," Remus said, pointing down. "He doesn't belong here. He is – he is not a Death Eater."

The Auror frowned. "He bears the mark, sir. And was he not the one who –"

"Yes," Remus said, cutting in. "He does, and he was, but he is not a Death Eater. He was a spy for the Order." The Auror's frown deepened.

"Are you sure, sir?" he asked.

"Positive," was Remus' weary response.

_Remus couldn't duck fast enough, and felt the burn as the Death Eater's spell grazed his cheek. Ignoring the pain, he retaliated, but this was not his first injury, and he was growing tired. He looked frantically for an advantage, and finally, finally, he found one._

_Breathing hard with relief, Remus knelt beside the dispatched Death Eater. Yanking the mask off, he identified the unconscious woman as Alecto Carrow. Confiscating her wand, he added it to his growing collection before tying her up._

_But he had let his guard down. A curse passed so close to his head that he smelled singed hair. Cursing himself for being so careless – what would Mad Eye say? – he whirled as well as his crouch allowed, wand out, wondering what grace had saved him from that curse. _

_Snape approached him, wand out, and sent another curse at Remus, another curse that missed, but only just. Remus' eyes narrowed. Snape wasn't careless, and he didn't miss. Still, he was taking no chances._

"_Reducto!" Remus yelled, rising, but Snape deflected the curse with ease. Remus sent another at him, and that one was deflected, too._

"_Calm yourself, Lupin," Snape said in hushed tones. "I need to speak with you, and I want you neither injured nor dead, so please don't force me to do anything I'll regret."_

"_Speak to me?" Remus questioned, disbelieving. "What, on the behest of your master?" he asked, his anger getting the better of him, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. He sent another curse at Snape; he dodged and sent a Stunner at Remus, once again aimed to miss._

"_While it is better for anyone who sees us to see us dueling, I'd appreciate it if you didn't aim to hit me, Lupin," Snape said, almost bored. "You want to hear me out and you want what I've come to give you."_

"_The Death Eaters issue ultimatums now, do they?" Remus snarled._

"_I doubt it. You know as well as I that they do not need to resort to that. I come to you with the fruits of my services, for if I'm to continue to offer those services, I cannot be caught with these."_

"_And what makes you think I'm going to accept help from Albus Dumbledore's murderer?" was Remus' growled response. _

"_Because I did so on Dumbledore's orders!" Snape hissed, and sent another curse into the air over Remus' shoulder as Remus stood, shocked and staring. _

"_How dare you –" he started, but Snape didn't let him finish._

"_I have neither the time, energy, nor inclination to make you believe me," Snape snarled. "Though it is true nonetheless. I come to you because you are head of the Order to which I am still a loyal member. Do you want these or not?" And he held his robe open to show a bundle of wands. After a long, wary consideration, Remus sent a curse at Snape that spun off over his left shoulder. Snape gave a tight smile. "I'll take that as a yes," he said. _

_Then, without a word or sign of warning, Snape rushed at Remus, knocking him bodily to the ground. Remus heard a soft clatter as the bundle of Death Eater wands was dropped to the ground. Snape sent a curse into the ground beside Remus' ear and hissed, "I have orders to follow, orders that are years old. And believe me, as little respect as I have for you, Remus Lupin, I had far too much for Albus Dumbledore to do anything but follow those orders."_

_Remus looked up at his school nemesis, finally realizing all he had done. _

"_You're a good and brave man, Severus. You have my thanks," Remus whispered, and the words made Snape freeze. Then he gave a small, tight, and bitter smile and said only, "I may yet see you again, though I cannot say. Now I must go." _

_And he was gone. Remus picked up the bundle of wands and counted them. Six. He looked in the direction Snape had fled, giving the man a silent farewell. _

Remus knelt beside Snape's body, once it had been moved to the ground where the bodies of the Ministry and Order fighters lay. Conjuring a sheet, he whispered again, "I thank you," and covered the body.

Standing, he turned to find the next task that needed his attention.

"Remus!" Someone called his name, and he turned to see Hermione coming toward him, her right arm bound in a sling. He could tell she was forcing herself not to look at the long row of covered bodies. "Remus, I – have you seen Ron?" she asked, and he knew what she was asking.

"He's not here," Remus told her gently. "But no, I have not seen him. Crookshanks is here though; the Order's taken good care of him since you left him with us. Right now, he's at FieldStation B. He can help you find Ron."

Real gratitude shone in Hermione's eyes as she nodded and left to do just that.

One of the Healer's at Station B handed her the orange half-Kneazle. He purred and rubbed his head against her arm. She smiled; she had missed him.

"Crookshanks," she said, setting him on the ground and kneeling beside him, "Crookshanks, I need to find Ron. Can you help me?" Crookshanks looked up at her, head tilted to one side. Then he turned and trotted off toward the tree line, tail held high. Hermione followed him, her stomach sinking. Ron was in there? In the forest? She could come up with only two reasons why Ron would be in the forest. The first was that he had been unsuccessful in keeping his battle to the field. The second was that he had crawled there for the protection of the trees. Either solution did no bode well for him. _Don't be dead, Ron,_ she thought, over and over. _Please don't be dead_.

As they entered the trees, Hermione could see that they were following a track of disturbed earth. Something had obviously been dragged through here; what, she didn't really wish to think about.

She saw him about forty paces into the trees, far enough into the forest that she couldn't really see the boundary. His limp form was propped up against the trunk of a large tree. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He wasn't moving. She forced herself to take another step; a twig snapped under her foot, and Ron's head snapped up at the sound.

"Who's there?" he said, his voice rough with fear and pain. "If you've come to kill me, you might as well get to it. Though you're a right coward, attacking someone who can't fight back. But go ahead. Kill me."

Relief and a whole host of other emotions formed a lump in her throat. Swallowing hard, she spoke gruffly around it. "Death is too simple a thing for you, Ron Weasley."

"Hermione?" he said, breathlessly, his head turning toward her voice. She rushed forward and knelt beside him, picking up his hand. She couldn't see any major injuries, but his eyes were scrunched tightly closed.

"You idiot," she whispered fiercely around tears.

"You're all right," he whispered, a hand finding her hair and stroking it. "You're all right," he breathed, relief evident. "I know, you're angry as hell at me, go ahead and be. I don't care. You're all right."

"The only thing I'm angry with you for," she said carefully, "is leaving without giving me a chance to say that I love you too, you prat." And she placed her left hand on his face and kissed him fiercely, tears streaming down her face knowing he was all right. His arms tightened around her, holding her close.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed. She smiled through the tears.

"Let's get you out of here," she whispered. "To a Field Station." But he had found the bandage with a seeking hand. He scowled in concern, though he still did not open his eyes.

"What's this?" he asked, angry that she'd gotten hurt.

"Nothing that won't heal," she said gently. "Now, will you follow me out of here? We've got to get you to a Healer before that spell blinds you." She helped him up, and he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "You trust me to lead you out of here?" she asked, ridiculously nervous.

"Hermione," he said, "I would trust you to lead me to the ends of the earth and back." Coming from anyone else, she knew, it would have been too much. But from Ron, it was the right thing to say, and she knew he meant it. With Crookshanks to show the way, she led him out of the trees.

Within a few minutes, she had gotten him to the nearest FieldStation, and upon learning the curse that was affecting Ron, the Head Healer, a man by the name of Healer Bromton, had come quickly over.

"How long ago was the curse cast, do you know?" he asked Ron while running some preliminary spells with his wand. Hermione held Ron's right hand tightly in her left. Ron shook his head.

"It's hard to say. At least a half an hour ago."

"Mm," the Healer said, frowning slightly.

"Is that bad?" Hermione asked hurriedly.

"I don't think it'll make much difference, as long as he hasn't opened his eyes."

"I haven't. I was warned by Remus Lupin about the curse. Honestly, I expected the Death Eater to finish me off, but . . . I don't know what happened to him, but the next thing I knew, someone was dragging me into the woods. I assumed it was one of our people, but I don't know for sure."

They sat in tense silence for a few moments longer while Healer Bromton cast careful and deliberate healing and cleaning spells on Ron's eyes. "How many of our people have we lost?" Ron asked suddenly, not able to stand the silence any longer.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Healer Bromton said.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I saw –" she faltered. "I saw where they're . . . keeping the bodies before I went to find you . . . there were about nine then, but they were still bringing people. I don't know who they were, except –" She had to tell him about Percy, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Except who, Hermione?" he asked quietly, his face drawn. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembered Fred. "One of us, right?" he asked, resigned. A small sob, little more than a hitch of breath, escaped her. "Tell me, please," he pleaded.

"Your brother," she whispered. "Percy."

"Wh – what?" he said, shocked, his hand tightening in her grip. "Percy? But he's – he wasn't even supposed to be here! How? Who?"

"I don't know," she told him. "I just know he's gone. And they took George to St. Mungo's, and Fred's there with him, but Fred's all right. I don't know about any of the others."

Ron nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered.

"No," he said. "It's all – I'm all right, I just –" He took a deep breath. "Does Mum know?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I don't know." She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back and they lapsed into silence again, until Healer Bromton spoke.

"Mr. Weasley?" he said. "I've got the spell and its damage cleared from your eyes; I want you to open them slowly and let me know what you see."

Slowly, very slowly, Ron's eyes fluttered open. Hermione held her breath as he blinked several times, trying to get them to focus. For a moment, he stared straight ahead, frowning, and her heart leapt painfully into her throat, but then he turned his head, and his eyes focused on hers.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he choked out and pulled her roughly to him, holding her tight.

"I've got to send a message to Fred," she whispered in his ear. "To let him know." And she smiled at him through tears and kissed him once, gently. Then she left to speak to one of the Assistant Healers. Healer Bromton turned to Ron.

"All right, Mr. Weasley. What was it you didn't want her to know?" he asked softly.

"I've got nothing in my right eye," Ron said grimly.

* * *

Oo, mini-cliffhanger! . . . okay, not really. Whatever. I've got nine days to finish this story, and I think I'll make it, and I know you're all gearing up for the DH release, but if you could still find the time to review, I'd appreciate it immensely!


	10. Sacrifices

yay! Another chapter! I think this is the fastest I've ever updated a story in my life . . . nothing like having a deadline, right? Anyway, we're nearly there! Nearly at the end! I'm thinking three more chapters to reach the end, unless something unforseeable happens in the meantime, which I'm not expecting, but that's why it would be unforeseeable, right? Anyway.

DICLAIMER: roll recorded message here

* * *

Promises Kept 

Chapter Ten - Sacrifices

"Waiting for me?" Harry asked. "What do you mean, waiting for me? You knew this would happen?" He sat back on his rock and watched as his parents exchanged a glance very much like the ones Ron and Hermione had gotten so good at in the past year.

"No," James said slowly. "Not really. Not in the way you mean. It's always been a possibility, but it wasn't our purpose."

"Then what was?" Harry asked.

"Why, helping you, of course," Lily said, sounding surprised. "In whatever way we're permitted." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Surely you've noticed?" she asked him sardonically.

"The dreams were from you, then?" he asked, looking round at them all.

"Well, of course they were from us!" Sirius thundered. "What did you think?" Harry fixed an amused look on his godfather.

"Well, for a long time, I didn't know _what_ to think," he said. "I've always been lousy at Divination."

"Well, this wasn't really Divination," James said. "More like . . . assistance from realms beyond." Harry gave his father a look, and he heard a snort stifled behind him. James glared at his wife, who then laughed out loud.

"No, no, James, by all means, continue!" she said, still laughing at him.

"Well, if you're just going to laugh at me –" James started, pretending to look affronted.

"No, not at you," Lily corrected. "Just at your dubious word choice." And she flashed him a brilliant smile that he couldn't help but return.

Harry watched the two of them with interest, and the tiniest pang of regret. He had never watched them in anything but memories and dreams. This is, as he had said before their graves a year ago, what he had deserved. He gave a small smile, though, as he realized who they reminded him most strongly of. In a way, he supposed, he had watched his parents all these years, through Ron and Hermione. Then, with another pang, he realized he would never be a part of Ron and Hermione's banter again.

For just a moment, he wished there had been another way. He wished he had been able to defeat Voldemort without dying himself. But he cleared his head of that thought immediately. It did no good to dwell. This was the way it had to happen. He'd made the sacrifice; it had to stand. With an inner sigh, he forced himself to focus on what his mother was saying.

". . . it was really just a matter of finding a memory to match the message. With four of us, that wasn't difficult at all. And you, dear, got the hang of it quicker than we could have hoped." She smiled at him and he tried his best to smile back, but he had turned to feeling decidedly melancholy. His mother noticed. She reached out and took his left hand in her own. Slowly, he met her eyes, and he knew she knew. "We're all very proud of you," she said quietly. He nodded.

"I know," he said to her, very quietly. Then, determined to make the best of things and not drag the entire circle down with him, he said, "And whose idea were the dreams in the first place?" Then he couldn't help but grin. "As subtle as it was, I'm willing to bet it wasn't Sirius or Dad." He saw his mother holding back a shocked laugh. He glanced over at his father and Sirius, who were looking decidedly offended.

"Did you hear that, Prongs?" Sirius said.

"I did, I did," James said. "I can hardly believe it!"

"Your own son!"

"You'd think you'd have brought him up better, Padfoot."

"Yes, you certainly – hey!" Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Me? Why does that fall to me?"

James shrugged innocently. "You had the handling of him when he was older. I only had him for fifteen months, and he was sweet and good-tempered and well behaved then."

"Yes, but that sort of response wasn't garnered by me, old friend," Sirius said, a sideways glance over at Harry. "Sounded more like Remus, if you ask me."

"Quite right," James agreed, smiling now. "Definitely Remus' influence." He shook his head in mock gravity. "You should know better, Harry," he chastised. "You should know better."

Harry laughed, glad to have distracted them from his darker thoughts. "Whose idea?" he asked again.

"Mine," came a new voice, and Harry watched the shadows behind the empty stone, and sure enough, a small, watery man emerged.

"Why are you only coming forward now?" Harry asked him.

"I wasn't sure you would want me here," Peter said quietly.

Harry glanced around. "If they don't object to your presence, how can I?" he asked. "I forgave you long ago, Peter, surely you know that. You were the first, and . . . it made the others a little easier, I think." The small man smiled at him, and Harry noticed that all trace of his nervousness was gone. He had a quiet confidence now, and seemed a completely different person.

"The dreams were my idea," Peter repeated. "I remembered how, a few years ago, you were informed of Voldemort's plans and feelings through dreams. I thought the idea might be adapted to suit our purposes."

But Peter's words had brought back the melancholy, and with it, the guilt. Glancing at Sirius, then looking down to avoid everyone's gaze, Harry muttered, "Because it worked so well the first time."

The atmosphere in the Grove changed instantly. Harry could feel his parents and godfather and the others all exchanging glances, trying to decide how to speak. It was Sirius' voice that broke the silence.

"I warned you this would happen," he said, and Harry looked up, because the words didn't make any sense. But he saw then that his godfather had not been talking to him. "You've gotten him to forgive everyone who's ever done him wrong in his life. Snape, Petunia, even Voldemort, but you can't show him how to forgive himself!" Sirius' voice rang in the clearing, hard. Surprised at his godfather's tone, he followed Sirius' gaze to his mother, now sitting straight, defiant, her jaw set.

"And what would have you had me do, Sirius?" she asked him, steel in her own voice. "Abandon the plan? Leave him to fight alone because of the chance that this might happen? I did what had to be done! We all did. Without what we did, Voldemort would be walking free now! No one could have done it alone! You know that! "

Harry suddenly appreciated the fact that his mother was a red-head.

"Yes," Sirius said quietly. "Yes, I do. I know it had to be done, Lily. I helped you do it. But what you couldn't see was that as each person he blamed was taken away, he took more and more of the blame onto himself, and _that's_ what we have to deal with now!"

"So deal with it," Lily said sharply, and then she softened visibly, looking away, sad. "You're probably better suited to that task, anyway." Nodding, Sirius came and knelt before Harry, forcing Harry to look at him.

"Harry," he said softly but firmly. "You_ have_ to stop blaming yourself for my death." Harry tried to look away, but his godfather wouldn't let him. "You have to, Harry. Dumbledore told you, your friends told you, well now _I'm_ telling you. You _have _to stop blaming yourself."

"How can I?" Harry asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "How can I, Sirius? It was my fault! Would you have me ignore what I know is true? You died because of me, because of actions that I took!"

Sirius shook his head. "I died because of actions that _I_ took, Harry. _Me_. The truth of it was, I was tired, Harry. I was tired of hiding and tired of being on the run and tired of not being able to do what I thought I should be doing. _I_ should have stayed behind. _I_ should have been more careful. But I was impatient. I was reckless. Facing Bella . . . it was like being back at school again, and I got caught up in the moment. I taunted her, Harry. I knew how close I was to the Veil, I knew what might happen, but I was past caring. You gave me an excuse to leave. If you hadn't, I would have found another one sooner or later. You didn't cause my death, so stop blaming yourself. Do you know how hard it's been for me, watching you, knowing you were still carrying that around?"

Harry stared down at him, at the admission. "But . . ." he searched for something to say. "But you'd be free now if it wasn't for me," he whispered. Sirius shook his head sadly.

"No, Harry. I wouldn't. If you hadn't believed that dream and Kreacher – which, by the way, you had every reason to believe – if you hadn't been lured to the Ministry, Voldemort would never have been seen, and things would have gone on the same for me, until I finally cracked. But I wouldn't have been _free_. My name's cleared now; that's all I wanted."

"But –"

"Why must anyone be blamed, Harry?" James asked gently.

"Because it happened!" Harry exclaimed. "Because you're _here_," he said more quietly, to Sirius. "And you shouldn't be."

"Ah, the mystery that is death," came Dumbledore's calm, quiet voice. Harry closed his eyes and looked away. "You heard your father, Harry. Even those who have been here for near seventeen years cannot fathom its mysteries. Maybe there are times set aside for each of us to die. Who can say? Maybe some things are destiny, meant to happen. Will you make that call? Will you take credit for Fate's workings, if that's true? Or will you claim to be able to see how lives and possible futures are intermingled if it isn't?"

Slowly, Harry met Dumbledore's eyes. A long moment passed between them before another voice interrupted. "Blame me," it said, and Harry turned to his mother, shocked and horrified. "Blame me," she repeated, level and serious.

"How could I possibly do that?" he asked, shocked that she would even suggest it. She lifted her head a fraction of an inch.

"Because it was my action, Harry, that led to Sirius' death. If I hadn't tried to protect you, if I hadn't died, Voldemort wouldn't have been trying to hear the prophecy. He wouldn't have lured you to the Ministry, Sirius wouldn't have had to come save you, and Bellatrix never could have killed him. So you see, it is my fault. If you must blame someone . . . blame me."

"No!" Harry cried. "You can't say it's your fault!"

"Why not?" she asked, still perfectly serious.

"You have no way of knowing the same thing wouldn't have happened! You can't ask me to blame you! No one can prove that what you did had anything to do with what happened after –" He stopped abruptly as he realized what he was saying, what she had forced him to admit. He caught her eyes, his gaze accusing, and she smiled at him softly. She reached out a hand to touch the side of his face.

"Life has given you enough burdens as it is, Harry," she whispered. "Don't add to it by assuming ones that aren't yours to bear." He leaned into her touch, his eyes closed. What they was asking him to do, it was the hardest request anyone had ever made of him, harder than forgiving his aunt, Voldemort, everyone. But after a long, tense moment, he took a deep breath, and nodded.

As he let out the breath, he felt something inside the Grove shift and change, settling into a more relaxed state.

"Good man, Harry," Sirius said quietly, and Harry smiled.

"You lot don't ask for a lot from a person, do you?" he asked wryly, and a ripple of laughter spread across the Grove.

"You're ready now, Harry," James said, and Harry looked to his father, confused.

"Ready for what?" he asked.

"To go back," Sirius stated, as if it should have been obvious. "To live again. You're not here the way the rest of us are; you're still tied to life." And Harry looked where he gestured. Sure enough, radiating from his body was another silver cord, one that trailed out through the veil.

"Will it fade?" he asked quietly. "Dissipate."

"With time, it will," Lily said. "Which is why we need to send you back as soon as possible."

But Harry shook his head. "It will fade with time. Let it," he said, and five pairs of shocked eyes stared at him. "I'm not going back," he told them firmly.

* * *

When Hermione returned to where he sat, Ron surveyed her for the first time with colorless eyes – for that had been the price for having sight restored in both eyes. He could no longer see colors. But it was a price he had been willing to pay. It would be much easier to adjust to a world of grays than to a world only half there. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the shining brown of her hair, the pink that he knew would linger in her cheeks. 

He gathered her to him when she came back, in the way he had seen Harry do with Ginny, in the way he had long wanted to be able to gather Hermione to him.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, relishing being able to say it now. She smiled up at him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

"I want you to stay here for at least ten minutes," Healer Bromton said to Ron. "To make sure nothing changes with your vision. Holler if it's affected in any way, yes?"

"I will," Ron said, shaking the man's hand firmly. Then he took Hermione's hand again, squeezing it. "I guess . . . we'll have to talk once all this calms down, won't we?" Hermione smiled at the ground.

"Yes, though honestly, I don't know how much there will be to say." She looked up at him then. "I've known for a long time," she said softly. He nodded.

"Me, too," he said around a lump in his throat.

"Earlier we were just being stupid, both of us, and then this year, we've been purposely avoiding it. Is that the sort of talking you meant?"

He smiled. "Yes," he said. "That and – talking to Harry –" Hermione's smile slipped as she looked away.

"Do you think he's all right?" she whispered., biting her lower lip in worry.

"I don't know," Ron whispered.

"Hermione!" Remus came toward them. "You found him, I see?" Hermione nodded.

"Yes, and sent a message to the Hospital for Fred, to let him know."

"Remus," Ron said, "how many of my family members have you been able to find?"

Remus looked at the young man, his gaze serious. "You know about Percy," he said softly. Ron swallowed and nodded. Hermione squeezed his hand to comfort him. "George was seriously hurt. Last word I had, they think he'll pull through, but they aren't sure what affects the curses will leave on him. Fred's with him. I have no news on Charlie, Bill, or your dad, only that they are not among the dead we've found."

"Remus, how many are dead?" Hermione asked.

"Eleven of ours so far," he said gravely.

"Remus, you should know. Snape's around here somewhere." Ron spat the name. "I saw him before I got dragged into the woods. He's–"

"He's dead," Remus said shortly. Hermione let out a gasp. "And Ron, you should know. He _was_ the one who dragged you into the woods." Ron stared openly. "He was on our side. He took out about seven Death Eaters on his own. One of them got him in the end." There was stunned silence from the two teens.

"He was on our side?" Ron finally asked. Remus nodded.

"Yes," was all he said. "Hermione, Ron, I need to find Harry. If neither of you can tell me where he is, I'll need to take Crookshanks and find him. If he hasn't come back by now, it's likely he's hurt badly enough that he can't. We need to know what happened; the shock of the battle is clearing up and people want answers."

"He was heading for the Gaunt House in the heart of the forest," Hermione told him. "Hoping to confront Voldemort there." Remus nodded. He knelt to speak to Crookshanks, then straightened to follow the cat toward the woods. "Remus!" Hermione called out, the name escaping her before she could haul it back. Harry's words weighed heavily on her mind and heart, and she had to get them out. Remus turned back to hear what she had to say. "Harry said – the things he said before he left . . ." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "He sounded like he didn't expect to come back." A tear fell down her cheek with the last whispered phrase. Remus hesitated, taking that in, then nodded again.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, and then continued into the forest. Hermione leaned into Ron and let him hold her close, stroking her hair, comforting her.

"Don't grieve until we know, Hermione," he whispered.

"You heard the things he said," she whispered. "He was saying goodbye, Ron." Ron nodded.

"I know."

* * *

"What do you mean, you're not going back?" Sirius demanded. 

"Just that," Harry said levelly, meeting his godfather's stern gaze. "I died, Sirius. And there's no spell that can reawaken the dead. I learned that long ago."

"Yes, but you're not here in the same way we are, Harry!" Sirius insisted. "You're not completely dead!"

"Close enough to it to be here," Harry retorted. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I knew going into this what would happen. That anyone who wanted to defeat Voldemort was facing death. I'm grateful to you that I can spend my eternity here instead of shackled to him for all time, but all the same. I died. That's why I'm here, and that's the way it has to be."

"Then why did you leave a connection behind you?" James asked. Harry frowned, confused.

"I didn't," he said. James pointed at the silver cord that trailed behind him. "I don't know what that is or why it's there."

"You tied yourself to life, Harry," Lily said. "That's what it is."

Harry's frown deepened. "I didn't," he insisted.

"You did," Sirius said.

"To a person you love and an object that already held power. You tied some of your life force to it and to her. Remember?" James asked. Harry looked to the cord, and heard an echo.

_Hear me, Ginny. I love you more intensely than I can even understand . . . I want to believe that this protection is more than enough for the both of us, more than enough to keep us both safe . . . _

"The ring," he whispered.

"Exactly," was James' soft reply.

"Like a Horcrux?" he asked softly, horrified at the idea.

"Similar," Lily said gently. "But with some important differences. The bond a Horcrux leaves is formed of pain and death. It's a willing and knowing shredding of one's soul. What you've done was formed out of love and devotion, so the bond is ten times as strong, stronger still for not knowing. But yes, Harry. All of your soul is not here, because you gave part of it away."

Harry looked at the cord for a long moment, then finally, shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It doesn't make a difference."

"How can you say that?" Sirius demanded. "Harry, you aren't supposed to be here. You aren't supposed to die! Not now!" Harry looked at his godfather, starting to get angry.

"You think I _want_ this?" he asked. "You think I wouldn't rather go back there, back to Ginny and to Ron and to Hermione? Of course I do! But I can't! I made the sacrifice, and I know that this is what's needed! I negate everything by going back!" he insisted. "_You_ know that!" he said, turning to his mother. "Because you did the same thing. You _knew_!"

"I didn't," she said, very softly.

"You did," Harry insisted. "You had to! You wrote that note, you –"

"I was grasping at straws, Harry," she said with a gentle laugh. "I knew a legend, a mother's tale, but I didn't _know_, at least, not in the way you mean. It wasn't planned."

"But –"

"Harry," she interrupted, her tone gently scolding. "It wasn't a matter of magic or spellwork. It was a matter of a mother standing in front of her child. No matter what I knew or what I didn't, I still would have stood in front of you, stood between you and Voldemort. I wrote that note to tell Albus why I hadn't made an escape. I wrote that note to tell him that I was tired of running and hiding. We'd been in hiding for three months, and it was driving me crazy! I was tired of always looking over my shoulder and not being able to do anything."

Harry sat quietly, taking all that in. "But the protection –" he started.

"The protection wasn't a matter of dying for someone else. It worked because I could have lived, but chose to die instead."

"And that's what _I'm_ doing," Harry insisted firmly. "I'm choosing this to protect _them_." He jerked a finger at the Veil.

"Protect them from what, Harry?" James asked. "Voldemort's gone. They're only threat now in the fear they face in the aftermath. Does your death protect them from that?"

Harry didn't know how to answer, so he remained silent, hoping that something would spare him from answering. Just then, the cord shimmered and his head snapped to it.

"What is it?" Lily asked.

"They've found my body," Harry said, disoriented slightly by the sensation. "They're moving it."

* * *

Ginny sat, staring at the open magazine in her lap, her eyes unseeing. She was numb. Something was happening. The battle. She knew that much. She knew that the hospital was buzzing with activity, frantic activity, treating horribly cursed wizards and witches. What was happening? 

She sat in Fleur's room at the hospital with her mother and her sister-in-law, waiting. _Always waiting_, some errant voice in head said. How could Fleur be sleeping? How could her mother be so calm? How could she not know what was going on?

She rubbed Harry's ring, twisting it around and around her finger, barely noticing that she was doing it. Was Harry all right? Had he beaten Voldemort? Had he been hurt. Had he –

_I would know_, she thought violently before the other thought could fully form in her head. _I would know_, she insisted.

Just then, the door to the ward burst open, and there stood Bill. He was dirty, sweaty, and streaked with blood. As if she hadn't been asleep just a moment before, Fleur was across the room, caught up in his embrace.

"It's over," he breathed. "It's over." Ginny's breath caught in her throat, and she couldn't speak. Why was Bill here, and only Bill? Why hadn't Harry come to deliver the news?

"Bill," Mrs. Weasley cried, coming to hug her eldest son to her. "What do you know?"

"Very little," he said. "Remus is on my heels though, and he knows more." And he took his young wife to the bed, and Ginny and her mother let them be. In only a few moments, Remus had come through the doors as well.

"Ginny," he said, and Ginny could see his pale face, he shaking hands. _I would know_, she thought fiercely.

"Remus, what is happening?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"I don't have much time," Remus said. "Ron is safe at the Field, and Fred and George are here; George was hurt badly. Fred's waiting, downstairs." Mrs. Weasley's hand had flown to her mouth at Remus' words, but to her credit, she held back a sob. "I'll let Fred tell you everything, but right now, I need Ginny." His eyes locked with hers, and her first, stubborn thought was, _I would know_. "It's Harry," he said.

She started shaking her head and couldn't stop. _No_, she thought frantically. _No_. _I would _know

"Go, Ginny," her mother said softly, giving her a push. Somehow, she made herself follow Remus out of the room.

"He's dead?" she blurted out, shaking with terror at the thought, but she had to ask.

"Not yet," was Remus' answer, which didn't help. Her breath caught in her throat, but she was determined not to cry. "I found him in the woods. It's – they don't know what's wrong with him," Remus admitted. "The Healer told me his soul isn't in his body anymore, but that it's still tied to earth somehow. I don't understand it, but I thought maybe you might." He looked at her hopefully, and she began to panic.

"I don't!" she cried. "I don't – he didn't tell me anything!" Remus took her gently by the shoulders.

"He didn't give you anything?" he asked urgently. "Nothing to keep safe? No mention of a tie?" Ginny shook her head.

"No, nothing like that," she said, twisting her ring in her fingers. Suddenly, she realized what she was doing and dropped her hands to her sides.

"He left this for you," Remus said softly, drawing a scrap of parchment from his robes. Holding it out to her, she could see her name in Harry's writing leaping out at her. With a trembling hand, she took it and unfolded it.

_Ginny,_ it read.

_I'm sorry I won't be able to keep the promise I made to you. There are many reasons for it that I don't have time to go into now. I hope you will know them all someday. I have to give up my life for this cause; that's the only way I get rid of him. The prophecy was right. We can't both survive. We're tied to each other, and so our fates are connected, too, and I can't escape that. Know that I love you, with everything I have, and the thought of never getting to hold you again or say goodbye is the most agonizing thought I've ever had. And I can't escape that either.I know this isn't fair to you. I'm sorry, Ginny, so sorry, but there is no other way. I know, someday, you will find someone else, someone who deserves you far more than I do, someone who can make you happy, who you can respect and love. With everything I am, with everything inside of me, I love you. You will never be alone. _

_Harry_

Without looking up from the parchment, she asked, "He's here?" Her voice was empty of every emotion.

"Yes," Remus told her. Then she looked up, and he saw the steely glint in her eyes.

"Take me to him," she said, and Remus knew better than to argue.

He led her to a small, private ward. She strode through the door when he held it open to her, her jaw set as she glared, fury building in her, at the curtained bed. "Healer Knowles," Remus said, "this is Ginny Weasley."

With an understanding nod, the Healer beckoned the girl over to the bed.

Harry lay upon it, waxy and pale, looking dead. Ginny strode to him, note crumpled in her fist. Healer Knowles and Remus backed quietly out of the way.

She leaned over the bed, glaring down at his body, and threw the note down on his folded hands with considerable force. "I do not accept this," she growled through clenched teeth. "I will not accept it. You don't _get _to die!" she choked out, her face turning red in her anger. Two tears spilled down her cheeks, but she paid them no mind. "You don't _get_ to leave me behind! You don't _get_ to leave me waiting, and you don't get to turn me into the damsel in distress! I won't allow it, not from you! You made a promise. And you don't get to break that promise." Tears were streaming down her face now. "I _do not_ accept this! You _do not get _to die!" With one angry motion, she ripped the ring from her finger and shoved it into his clasped hands. Hers still on top of his, she leaned down and hissed, right in his ear, "_You promised!_"

The abruptly, she turned on her heel and sat in the chair by the window, as tears streamed blindly down her face, refusing to look at him, refusing to watch him leave her.

Softly, carefully, Remus and the Healer left the room.

* * *

please review! 


	11. The Hardest Lesson We Learn

Chapter eleven and six days left! We're approaching the end, folks! I hope there are those still with me (besides Heidi, of course)! Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: Though I do tend to procrastinate quite impressively at times, I don't think I'd be cutting a release date for the most anticipated novel of the century _quite _this close.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Eleven - The Hardest Lesson We Learn

"If I go back," Harry said with conviction, "it never ends. Never. I'll never be anything but The Boy Who Lived to them. Everything I try to do with my life will be compared and held up to defeating Voldemort. It's all I'll ever be known for, and the status will force me into fighting any new Dark Wizard who comes along! I don't want that! And I don't think it's good for anyone else to have that."

"So you're doing this for entirely selfish reasons?" Sirius asked.

"No!" Harry said. "But even if I was, haven't I earned that right? I have lived my entire life for other people; haven't I earned the right to make this one choice based on what I want? You wouldn't be able to hold it against me, if it was a purely selfish choice. But it isn't! This _is_ for them!"

"Damnit, Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, pressing a hand to his forehead. After a moment, he pulled it away, balling it into a fist. His eyes snapped up to meet Harry's, and it was impossible to say whose face looked stonier. "You can't stay here," Sirius said in a tone of voice that left no room for argument. "You have to go back."

"I can't go back," Harry said firmly.

"Harry –"

"I can't go back!" he shouted over Sirius' protests. "It's not a choice I have!"

"Yes it _is_!" Sirius thundered, slamming his open palm down on the rock where he sat.

"Sirius," James started quietly, but Sirius didn't let him get any farther.

"No," he said, a finger point past Harry at his father. "No, James, he needs to listen. He needs to listen to me or he needs to listen to one of you, but he _needs_ to listen."

Harry watched, angry but absolutely resolved, as his godfather took several deep breaths with his eyes closed. When he opened them, he was focused again on Harry.

"You're too reckless," he said simply. "And you're hot-headed and impulsive." Harry opened his mouth to make an angry retort, but Sirius said the words before he could. "Exactly the same way that I was." The anger seemed to seep out of Harry as he held his godfather's gaze. "And look where it landed me, Harry. And look where it's landed you. And it's for the same reason."

"No, it's diff–"

"No, it isn't," Sirius interrupted wearily. "You think it is, and they," he jabbed a finger at the still-fluttering veil, "think it is, but I _know_ it's not because I've _been_ here," he let out a sigh, "long enough to know. It's the same."

The silence in the Grove lingered for a long while. Then Sirius spoke again, in a much different tone of voice. "All right," he said with an air and gesture of finality. "You're right, Harry. It's your choice." Harry looked at his godfather suspiciously. "We've given you our argument, we've tried to persuade you, but in the end, it's your conviction that matters, and you seem to have made up your mind."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked slowly.

"You're a grown man now, Harry," Sirius said with a shrug. "Old enough by far to make your own decisions. If you truly believe that your death is the best course of action, truly believe that your life has no further value, then nothing I can say will have any affect on that decision, and, to be fair, I should respect your choice." Here he inclined his head, jaw set. "Welcome to death," he said, and then he faded away until there was no sign he had ever been there.

"Sirius!" Harry called, irritated but concerned at his godfather's sudden sullen change of manner. He didn't think it could bode anything good.

"He's right, you know," Peter said. Harry returned his attention to the small man for the first time since his appearance.

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"He's right. It is your choice. And frankly, I think you're making the logical one. Living again involves so much, so many difficulties. I don't blame you for wanting to stay here. It's simple, for one thing. Dying is the easy choice. No one's going to make demands of you here. No one's going to expect anything of you. You spare yourself a lot of unnecessary pain by dying. Life is painful, Harry, but this?" He looked around him. "This is peaceful. No, you're making the right choice. It's the choice I would make, in your place. The easy choice."

And before Harry could respond, he, too, had faded away. Harry stared at the three people left in the Grove, hoping one of them would explain this sudden bizarre behavior. It was when both his parents looked to Dumbledore that Harry began to get a little suspicious.

"When I died, Harry, a great victory was won for unity. You have noted this yourself, so I daresay it is not immodest to admit it now. People used my death as a reason to unite. It played a part in the fight against Voldemort by bringing together wizards and witches who might otherwise have stayed apart, frightened. But this is not true of every person's death. Some people have this affect on the world when they die, it is true, but most do not. Indeed, I can think of an occasion when a person's death would have opposite the desired reaction.

"Let us say, for purposes of example only, that one such high profile figure in a major fight against darkness were to die, perhaps not unexpectedly, entirely, but surprisingly nonetheless. Let us make him a figure that the wizarding world looked up to, had respect for, and put full faith and trust in. His death shocks everyone, but not into unity. Let us say that his death throws the wizarding world into discord. It brings fear and anger and uncertainty because when this young man died, he took his fight's Dark Master with him. But let us also say that this Dark Master had seemed to die before, but had returned many years later, more powerful and frightening than ever."

Harry listened to Dumbledore's words with growing comprehension and irritation. He knew now that they were ganging up on him. After feeling the influence of Remus' subtle manipulation many times before, he now recognized what Sirius, Peter, and Dumbledore were trying to do. And his parents? Were they in on it too?

"Assuming that all these facts are true, Harry, it is plain to see how this individual's death would be a harbinger of chaos. No one would know if the Dark Wizard was truly gone. No one would know what to trust or what to believe without this young man. The world would never fully unify, and they would be highly untrusting of all the former associates of the Dark Wizard, and they would harbor contempt against them and pass that contempt on to their children. Nothing would change because all who could see the change would be incapable of alerting others to it. And in this cold, mistrusting world, a new Dark power would soon rise and it would begin all over again." Dumbledore fixed Harry with a leveling gaze. Harry didn't trust himself to speak, so Dumbledore went on.

"Personally, I cannot say which affect your death would have, Harry. Oh, I have my suspicions, as we all do in any situation, but I have been wrong before," he said cheerfully. "There is always the chance that your death will unite the wizarding world after all, in just the way you hope, isn't there?" And he smiled brightly at Harry and in the next moment, he was gone.

"And you?" Harry asked angrily, turning on his parents. "Are you in on this, too? Are you also going to try and manipulate me to get me to do what you want?" James and Lily exchanged a glance.

"You can only be manipulated if you allow yourself to be, Harry," James said quietly. Then he shrugged. "We're your parents, Harry. And we're going to be proud of you and love you no matter what." Harry looked away, grunting. "Oh, admit it, Harry!" James said. "You're only upset because instead of opposing you, they voiced your arguments for you. And if all of us are agreeing with you, then you're only sitting there arguing with yourself!"

Harry did not answer. James went on. "As it is, I haven't lived your life, I haven't shared your experiences, and I don't envy you the choices you've had to make, Harry. I trust your judgement, and I trust that you know what's best for you in terms of yourself and the world in the long run. Whatever choice you make, I'll support you. Should you choose to let that bond fade, to stay here, well . . . I can't imagine you doing anything but Waiting for the people you care about to join you in the end. So you'll Wait and you'll watch and . . . you'll be proud of them, I think." He looked toward the veil thoughtfully. Then he looked back at his son. "I really do," and Harry knew that he meant it.

"I think you'll be proud of. . . how quickly they're able to move on. The world itself . . . well, who can say? Facing the truth, some won't miss you at all, and most will hail your death as a tragic moment in the rise and fall of the Dark Arts, but will be more concerned with Voldemort and whether he's really gone this time. But the people who really care about you? Ron and Hermione will move on quicker than most people would think, because they're half expecting this as it is. It won't be as much of a shock, and they've got each other. They'll grieve, and even when remembering you has become routine for almost everyone else, they'll still remember truly, until they join you here.

"Molly Weasley, well . . . she's lost so many. Her sister, her brothers, so many friends, and a blood son, as you may have felt. You'll be another son lost, and she will mourn you. But . . ." James peered pensively up at the sky. "Losing so many . . . I won't say it desensitizes you to death, but it makes it a little easier. Remus will be the same; he's lost so many, all of us . . . and you mean a lot to him." James fixed his son with a penetrating look. "He thinks of you as his son, you know that, right?" Harry nodded, feeling more and more uncertain and guilty by the moment, though he knew everything his father was saying was true. "But he'll get past it, eventually. As for Ginny . . . well, honestly, I don't know about Ginny."

"I know about Ginny," Lily said quietly. Slowly, so slowly, Harry turned to look at his mother, not daring to say anything. "One of two things will happen to Ginny, and what will determine which one does is how long she lets herself stay angry with you. Because she'll use the anger to hold off the grief. So if she stays angry for a long time, the grief will hit long after every else has moved on. There will be no one to help her through it, and it will break her. She will gradually fade away, wasting away, and no one will be able to call her back."

Harry looked away, angry at them and angry at himself and terrified of this picture of Ginny, a picture that he _knew_ to be true. How he hated that truth! He knew he was hurting Ginny, making this choice. He knew he was leaving her alone, and he hated it, but . . . it couldn't be helped! It _had_ to be this way!

As his mother went on, he refused to look at her. "Or," she said softly. "Or, the other alternative is that the anger will flare and fade quickly, and she will grieve with others who can help her grieve. She will come through it stronger than she was before, and she will be able, some day, to move on. She will be able to find someone else, someone she can love, someone she can make a life with." In its own way, that scenario was worse, made him angrier than the other.

"Harry," his mother whispered, and her face came suddenly into view as she knelt before him. "Can you really, truly live with either scenario? Can you really sit by and watch either of these things happen to her?" Harry closed his eyes against the tears the visions brought. "Listen to me, Harry!" Lily pleaded. "If you make this choice, if you leave her, I guarantee that there will come a day when you will regret it. You will look down at her, broken and faded or happy and with someone who isn't you, and you will wish you had chosen to go back. And you won't be able to." Harry glanced down at her, her eyes sparkling with tears, for _him_. He struggled to keep a hold on his resolve, but he could feel it breaking away from him. "If you won't listen to me," Lily whispered, "listen to _her_!"

And she covered his hands with hers and forced him to touch that silver cord. And suddenly, he heard Ginny's voice filling his head.

_You don't_ get_ to leave me behind! You don't get to leave me waiting, and you don't get to turn me into the damsel in distress! I won't allow it, not from you! You made a promise. And you don't get to break that promise. . . . I _do not_ accept this! You _do not_ get to die! You promised!_

He felt her words fill him up completely, and the despair and anger and need in it nearly broke his heart. And then his mother was speaking, melding with Ginny's words.

"She needs you, Harry. And she knows it. She needs someone who understands what it is like to be as broken inside as she is. If you leave, what will happen to her? If you won't do it for any of us or wizard unity or for yourself, then do it for her. _Live _for her."

There were tears streaming down his face now, angry tears, and he wanted more than anything to gather Ginny close to him, to hold her against his chest, to feel her with him.

_But the sacrifice_, some feeble, persistent voice tried to persist. Harry shook his head, trying to rid it of all the conflict. He couldn't.

"You have an eternity to spend with us," James said, adding his voice. "You only get one lifetime with them. Don't you want to make it count, do something worthwhile besides defeating a Dark Lord?"

Harry closed his eyes against it all, but he couldn't shut out Ginny's voice, his father's voice, his mother's voice. He heard Ron and Hermione and Molly. He heard Remus and Sirius and Peter, Voldemort and Dumbledore.

"Harry," his mother whispered, as if she could hear all those voices, too. "You fought hard to make that world a place where people could be together safely. A place where people could love without worrying. Don't you think you've earned a chance to live in it?"

Harry sat, eyes shut, motionless, feeling his mother's hands on his, and his father's hand on his back. Through the silver cord, he could no longer hear Ginny, but he could feel her presence, feel her terror that he would die and leave her, feel her love for him that she needed to be enough to bring him back. And he could see the truth in everything he'd been told. With his parents around him and the magic of the place filling him, he could, just for that moment, glimpse into a future world where he was dead. He let the sight fill him and did not flinch away.

When he knew he could take no more in, knew he had to make a final decision, he took a deep breath, and, upon releasing it, made his choice and released all the built up tension.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at his parents. "How do I go back?" he asked.

* * *

Remus was sitting, for lack of a better place, on the cold stone floor outside Harry's room. He sat scrunched up, his elbows on his knees, and his chin propped on his folded hands. He hadn't moved a muscle since leaving the room; he was too preoccupied. At some point, Healer Bromton had squeezed his shoulder in an almost reassuring way and then left, to check on other patients in the ward. He'd left instructions for Remus to give a shout if anything changed; Remus had barely heard him.

He could no longer hear any sounds from inside the room; he hadn't since Ginny's tirade had ended. Gods, but that had been hard to watch! To watch her scream her fear and pain at the lifeless body when he was wishing he could break down and do the same.

_Not Harry, too, _his mind kept repeating. _Please, not Harry too. _It was like when Sirius had died, he mused, and he was there, holding Harry back though he wanted nothing more than to rush forward with Harry and pull him back from Death.

" . . . Remus!" Someone called his name. He looked up to see Molly Weasley standing over him. Her face bore marks of tear streaks. He struggled to stand, to talk to her; she looked at him kindly, with sadness in her eyes. "Any word?" she asked softly, nodding toward the door.

"No," Remus said, rubbing his eyes. "Ginny's in there with him, I – I didn't want to leave to go to the waiting room, I . . ."

"Why ever didn't you conjure a chair, Remus?" she asked. He stared at her. The thought honestly hadn't occurred to him. With a look of gentle pity, she waved her wand and two chairs appeared. Remus sat in his heavily.

"What of George?" he asked. Mrs. Weasley tried to smile.

"They tell me he should live," she said haltingly. "But they're still trying to remove curses from him. And –" She faltered. "And Fred told me about Percy," she got out in a whisper.

"I'm sorry I didn't," Remus whispered with a look of concern, but she waved a hand in dismissal.

"No, no," she said, looking away. "Fred told me he – he saved George's life." Remus could see the tears threatening to spill over. "And I imagine it – it hasn't really sunk in yet. What with not – not knowing about – Arthur or – Charlie . . . or Harry." Remus reached over and laid his hand over hers. She clutched at it, trying again to smile, and they sat in silence for several long moments. Then Molly spoke suddenly. "Harry will pull through, Remus. I can feel it. He has . . . much to live for."

Remus looked away, his expression pained. "In my life . . . there have been five things said to me that have meant more than anything else. Dumbledore telling me I could attend school. James, Sirius, and Peter telling me that they didn't care I was a werewolf. Lily, a few years later, telling me the same thing. Tonks –" Here he faltered, for he'd had no real word on Tonks, only that someone thought she was all right. "Tonks telling me she loved me, despite – everything. And then last summer, when Harry told me I was the closest thing to a father he'd ever known." Tears pricked at the corners of Remus' eyes now. "I found him, Molly, and I – I've lost almost all of those people. I can't – bear the thought of losing another. He stopped being just my best friends' son a long time ago," he whispered, and Molly squeezed his hand.

"I understand," she said.

"I know," Remus said, turning his head to look at her. "You more than anyone else, I think."

"He has a lot to live for," she repeated, and then they lapsed into silence again, waiting.

* * *

"How do I go back?" Harry asked his parents, and, suddenly, the Grove was suddenly full again, as Harry stood in the midst of a tight-knit circle.

"You just step back through the Veil," James told him. "Once you do, the cord should pull you right back to your body."

"You might face a little struggle trying to reconnect," Sirius said, "because you're body's been dead so long. But it shouldn't take much effort for your soul to snap back into place, not with the right motivation."

"Don't think I don't know what you did," Harry said, looking around at them all. Then grinned knowingly at him.

"We played you, Harry," Peter said quietly. "We manipulated your senses of responsibility and pride and wanting to do the right thing. And you are doing the right thing."

"You said I was before, by staying here," Harry pointed out. Peter smiled.

"I said logical, not right. Life is always harder than death. Unfortunately, most of us are so afraid of the transition . . ." He trailed off, but he didn't need to complete the thought. Harry smiled at him.

"Thank you," he said. Then he turned to Dumbledore.

"You know what you have to do now, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I think I've puzzled it out," he said. "Thanks for everything, Professor."

"Harry, truly. It has been my pleasure." And with a small bow to Harry, Dumbledore stepped back and Harry turned to Sirius.

"You'll do as I said?" Sirius asked.

"Most of it," Harry said. "I'm sorry I–" he started, but Sirius waved his hand dismissively.

"No need," he said. "Just do me a favor, would you?" Harry waited for him to continue. "Give Remus a message from me. Tell him Padfoot says to get up off his ass and start moving. He doesn't have the war to hide behind anymore, and she won't wait around forever." Harry grinned.

"I'll tell him."

"Good man," Sirius said, and then enveloped Harry in a hug. Finally, Harry turned to his parents.

"No more dreams, okay?" he said to them. "I have no desire to be the next prophet or Seer or whatever." James and Lily exchanged a look.

"Only when it's really important," James said finally. Then he, too, stepped forward and embraced Harry. "I have never been so proud to have you for my son as I am at this moment," he whispered.

"Same here," Harry whispered back. His father looked him in the eye and said, "I wish I could have been a part of your life, Harry, but I look at you now and I see what you have become and I know, I _know_ I couldn't wish for better." Harry smiled at him. "Live and be happy, Harry," James said. His son nodded, then looked to his mother.

Smiling, Lily held open her arms and Harry rushed into them. "My beautiful son," she whispered, holding him close. "I love you so much, Harry, and I, too, wish we had more time together. But it is enough, what we have had?" Harry nodded. His mother smiled at him, then pressed something into his hand. "I do not know," she said, "whether or not this will still exist in the living world, but if it does, give it to my sister. Give it to your aunt. Let her be your family, Harry, yes?" Harry nodded again.

"I will," he promised. Lily touched his face.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For all you have been to me. Now go. Go, and don't let me see you here again for a long time, Harry!" Harry smiled. "Go, and live the life you've earned for yourself!"

And with that, five pairs of hands pushed him back through the Veil.

The cord pulled him along with alarming speed, and Harry was conscious of being pulled through space and dimension, slowly entering back into the world he had left. He saw himself approach St. Mungo's, saw himself fall through levels of building, rushing through corridors and ceilings and floors as the silver cord pulled him back to his body.

With a jolt, he stopped, hovering now above his body, a pale and waxy shell lying in the hospital bed. Harry pushed at the barrier that separated his soul from its case, but it would not give.

Panicked, he began to push with all his might against his chest, but his body would not let him in. A silent scream escaped him as he fought for entry; now that he had decided to live again, the thought of not being able to filled him with terror.

Filling his mind with the images of all those that he loved, he reached up a few feet, then dove with all his might at the place where the silver cord connected his two selves, just below his folded hands resting on top of his chest.

* * *

Yes, another cliff hanger of sorts. But, c'mon. I'm fairly predictable. Surely you can guess what's going to happen?

Review!


	12. The Choices We Must Make

I'm going to get this done before Saturday! No, really, I actually am! There's only one more chapter! Only a few more loose ends to tie up!

: D Aren't you all thrilled?!

Your enthusiasm is overwhelming. I thank you. ;)

DISCLAIMER: I hereby renounce all claim on the Harry Potter franchise! I'll admit it; for a time I thought about claiming the world as my own, being free to do with it as I wished. But I have since decided that that is merely folly, and my time would be better spent simply doing with it as I wish anyway, without having to worry about doing anything other than stating: IT'S NOT MINE.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter 12 - The Choices We Must Make

He hurt. For a long few minutes, that was all he was aware of. Hurting. He was paralyzed with the pain, consumed by it, unable to even cry out. Slowly, ever so slowly, feeling crept back into his body, inch by inch, from the feet up. He waited, as with agonizing slowness, he was able to wiggle his toes, shift his feet, bend his ankles, though not well. At first he thought that was due only to the screaming protests of his stiff and sore muscles, but as his brain began working better along with his body, he realized he was in a bed of some sort, and his legs were restricted by blankets.

He was becoming aware more quickly now, his mind working rapidly to piece together what had happened. There had been a battle, he thought . . . he'd been fighting . . . someone . . . he'd nearly died, but he'd been rescued . . . or . . . _had_ he died? And what was in his hands?

That became the new puzzle to focus on. Something important was niggling at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite bring himself out of the fog enough to remember what it was. He shifted his fingers as best he could, trying to fix a name to the object he held. No . . . make that names, for there were two objects in his hands, and another something lying on top of them. One was a tight cylinder . . . it had a give to it and felt crinkly, papery . . .

_Parchment_. The word swam into his mind. Yes, parchment. A roll of parchment. And the thing on top of his hands was also parchment, though it was a sheet and not a roll. But the other . . . the other puzzled him. It was small, round, and cool. Ridged, too, he could feel some design under his fingertips. And there was a hole in the middle that he could fit his finger through.

_Ring_. As if opening a gateway meant to hold waters back, that word brought a rush of others.

_Mum. Death. Voldemort. Battle. Love. Challenge. _

_Ginny._

Harry's eyes flew open, the whole of what had happened flooding suddenly back to him. Ignoring the pain in his living-again limbs, he looked around him as best he could – someone had removed his glasses, so most of the room was an indistinguishable blur, but he saw enough to recognize that he was in a hospital room.

As quietly as he could, he reached out, groping for some sort of bedside table where his glasses might reside. Finding them, he put them on and the room sprang into sharp focus. He brought the ring up to examine it, the ring he'd given Ginny. The ring that had saved him. Looking past it, he saw with a start, Ginny herself, sitting in a chair, back to him.

With a pang, he realized she was crying. There were no real signs of it, but somehow, he just _knew_.

"I believe this belongs to you." He spoke quietly, not yet trusting himself to speak any louder. He watched her stiffen, heard her gasp. Slowly, hesitantly, as if she didn't dare believe it, she stood and turned.

Her face was streaked with tears, her wet brown eyes locking with his. He held out the ring in his open palm, but she didn't so much as glance at it.

"You were going to leave me," she whispered, her voice ragged and accusing. He noted that the terror hadn't quite left.

"Not because I wanted to," he whispered.

"You were going to leave me!" she repeated, and now her voice was harsh, with something like anger in it. Harry knew that she would never forgive him if he lied to her know, and so, he simply said, "Yes." And then he went on, adding, "But you were the one, Ginny, who told me to do whatever I had to do to defeat him. Even if it meant hurting you."

She gave a strangled sort of sob then, and choked out, "Yes, but I didn't mean it!"

And then she was in his arms, and he had let go of both the ring and the parchment roll to hold her close as she sobbed out all her fear and anger.

It was such a relief to be able to hold her, to know that she was safe and that they could finally be together. He knew, in that moment, that he'd made the right choice, and he would be forever grateful to those five for making him. How could he have ever thought to leave this? To leave her?

"I read that note and then I saw you, here, and I –" she choked out through her sobs, her voice muffled by his shirt. "I was so scared," she whispered, and she looked up at him then, and what he saw in those eyes nearly broke his heart.

They were the eyes of an eleven-year-old who'd had her innocence ripped from her and had never quite recovered from it. They were the eyes of someone who had spent years trying to convince everyone, including herself, that she was all right. They were the eyes of someone who had learned at far too young an age what real bravery meant. They were the eyes of someone who'd been broken and mended by inexpert hands, somehow managing, despite it all, to go on. And Harry remembered what his mother had told him.

_She needs someone who understands what it is like to be as broken inside as she is_.

"Do you know what would have happened to me if you'd died?" she whispered, her voice thick with raw emotion.

"Yes," Harry said, and then, ignoring muscles that screamed in protest, he leaned forward and kissed her. She clung to him. "Thank you, Ginny," he whispered against her lips.

"For what?" she asked.

"For giving me a reason to come back," he said. "And a means to do so."

"Where were you?" she asked, recovering more with every moment. "The Healer said your spirit was gone, tied to earth somehow, but not to your body?" Harry nodded and told her the whole story.

She listened raptly, taking it all in and never for a moment questioning what he was telling her. When he had finished speaking, silence hung between them for a long moment. Harry held his breath, waiting to see her reaction.

"So . . . you tied yourself to the ring . . . and to me . . . and that's why you could come back?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"That was how I could, but it was you, Ginny, and the things you said when you brought the ring, that made me come back. Without hearing that, I would have stayed there. You saved my life, Ginny."

She smiled at him, really smiled, and said, "We're even then, aren't we?" And he laughed and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead. With his other hand, he fished the ring out of the bedclothes.

"I've given this to you once before, with a promise," he said, removing the arm that was resting across her shoulders so he could take and open her hand and drop the ring into it. "And now I'm giving it to you again, with a new promise." He looked her straight in the eye as he closed her fingers around the ring. "I love you, and nothing's going to change that. I came back for a reason, and there's nothing that's going to change my mind about what I want from you and for us." He paused, to make sure she understood what he meant. He recognized the hard, blazing look in her eyes, and knew that she did. "But I'm not going to ask now, today, because we're both too young and there are things that should happen first. But someday. That's the promise, Ginny. Someday."

"Someday," she repeated, and slipped the ring onto her finger. "And I'll hold you to that." Then, leaning close to him, she whispered, "I expect promises made to me to be kept." He smiled and kissed her, long and deep.

Then he rested his forehead against hers and said, eyes closed, "Ginny, there's something else you need to know."

* * *

How long Remus sat in that hall with Molly, he didn't know. He only knew that when the door opened minutes or hours later, he stood immediately. A red-faced Ginny slipped out, tear tracks clear on her face. Remus' heart jumped into his throat.

"Ginny . . ." he said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Is he – what's wrong?"

She shook his head. "Percy," she whispered, and Remus was momentarily relieved. She was crying over Percy, not Harry. But wait – how did she know?

"How –" She smiled through the tears.

"Harry told me," she said softly. "He's awake, and he's asking for you, Remus." Relief flooding through him at her words, he moved past her silently and slipped into the room. Molly held out an arm to her youngest child, and Ginny went to her, and mother and daughter cried quietly together.

On the other side of the door, Harry told Remus in a quiet but even voice all that had happened both during the battle and after it. Remus said without interrupting, but he was frowning by the end.

"If I didn't know you . . ." he said. "I'd think you were making all this up. But I know you aren't." He looked away, taking the whole story in. "He's gone then? For sure?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Voldemort won't be coming back. That's for sure. His Horcruxes were what kept him alive last time; they've all been destroyed now. He's really gone."

Remus let that sink in. A world without Voldemort. How long had he been fighting for that, and now . . . now, it was really true. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, feeling almost free for the first time in his life. It was a heady feeling.

He opened his eyes to see Harry grinning at him. "I imagine there'll be a lot of that going around in the next few days," he commented, and Remus laughed.

Just then, the door opened and Healer Bromton stepped in. "Miss Weasley said – I – you're awake! You're alive!" he said, sounding completely shocked. Harry smiled at the Healer.

"I am," he said. "Thanks almost entirely to Miss Weasley. I imagine you'll still want to look everything over to make sure nothing's lingering, which I'd appreciate immensely." He smiled at the bewildered Healer, who decided not to ask questions and just let his training take over. "Someone should let Ron and Hermione know," Harry called to Remus as he started to leave. "And I need to address the wizarding world as soon as possible." Remus nodded and headed out the door.

There was still work to be done.

* * *

When Harry Potter appeared at the Minister of Magic's speaking platform to address the wizarding world, he found a crowd gathered in the arena below. News of his coming had spread to all the Ministry employees, and they, it seemed, wanted to hear what he had to say.

Harry stood back, viewing the crowd with growing amusement. His "entourage" stood with him. It had taken the four of them a good ten minutes to decide the best way to present the "hero" for his address. Ron wanted him to walk out on his own to show that he was strong, but Hermione said they didn't want to downplay the seriousness of the injuries Harry had sustained. She said he should walk out with help. Ginny had insisted that Ron and Hermione also be present, for the three of them had worked as a team and it was important that the wizarding world see the connections Harry had needed, but Remus had stressed that Ginny needed to be present as well.

Harry had listened to the four of them discussing this for a while, and then he'd broken in with a laugh. "While you're planning my press conference, keep in mind I do need to be there for it in a timely fashion," he had scolded gently. "I'll walk out with support because I don't quite trust myself to make it to the lectern on my own, but once I'm there, I need to stand unsupported, but all _four_ of you need to be with me. This was a team victory, and it's important everyone know that."

So the five of them waited now, waited for the Wireless team to get set up and ready, waited for the current of noise from below to subside.

When the moment was right, Harry gave a nod to Remus and Ginny, who were to escort him. With one on each side, supporting him, he limped slowly and with quiet dignity to the lectern. The hall grew silent as he came forward and, with another nod, Remus and Ginny released him and stepped back. He stood for a moment, gazing at the crowd below him, ringed by four of the people who meant the most to him, as cameras clicked and everyone waited.

"The victory has been won," he said simply, and he heard his words echo in the vaulted ceiling. "Lord Voldemort has been defeated. And this time, he isn't coming back. He can't. The victory has been won. Celebrate and be glad, but as you do so, do not forget that this victory has come at a terrible cost.

"Thirty-one are dead today. Thirty-one people died in this battle alone. Yes, I have added the Death Eaters to the count, along with the forces from the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, because human life was lost, and all human life is equal, a fact we have lost sight of in recent times."

He paused, looking down at all those faces, hearing only the click of cameras. They waited. "Fourteen perished fighting for our cause. When I am done here, a Ministry official will read their names. Remember, please, that for each name, there is a family who cannot celebrate this night. Remember that for each name there are friends and loves for whom this victory is, at best, bittersweet.

"Yes, we have won," Harry said. "For now, for this time, the darkness has been beaten back. But, my friends, we must be vigilant. I urge you to remember that Voldemort was not always a creature of darkness. Before he was Lord Voldemort, he was a young man named Tom Riddle, and Tom Riddle was not born hating. He was not born wanting to destroy. He grew to be that way because of situation and circumstance. The world made Lord Voldemort. _We_ made Lord Voldemort.

"I cannot tell you how to live your lives. I do not have that authority. No one does. All I can tell you is what I have seen, through this fight, through the price _I_ have paid, to be true. If you continue as you have, if you punish those whose families have produced dark supporters, if you cast away those who are different, alienate them, you are only allowing another Voldemort to form. If you let fear and hatred drive your lives and your dealings with others, the darkness _will_ come again. And our children will know no better world than we have known.

"It is up to you. All I can tell you the decision I have made. All I can tell you is this truth: the only reason I am standing here now, addressing you, alive and mostly well, is because I learned to let go of the anger and hatred I felt for those who hurt me. It is a hard task. But it is _essential_. All I can give you is the knowledge that it was forgiveness that saved my life, forgiveness and love that allowed me to defeat him.

"The decision is yours, and yours alone. You can go on as you have. You can cast out those who hurt you. You can retaliate and teach your children the same sort of prejudices that you have grown up with. You can do what is easy. Or you can fight it, still. You can teach your children something better, so that they can grow up having something better. Together, we can form a world where no Voldemort can exist. We can unite, we can forgive those who have hurt us, and we can create a world where everyone is equal and no one is left to a life that is lonely and painful. The choice is yours. I can only show you the choice I have made."

Harry took a deep breath, feeling his knees shaking. He felt that his words were not merely his own, that some other, powerful force was guiding his speech, his thoughts, helping him to shape them.

"This victory has come at a cost. Time alone will tell how great it has been. Time alone will tell whether this victory is part of a greater success. Time alone will show whether we have made the right choices. Remember those who have fallen. Remember those who have made the sacrifice for your safety. And remember what you have been shown."

He turned then, and walked slowly off the platform, Remus and Ginny supporting him once more. He left a hall full of wizards and witches and a world full of more, listening, thinking, deciding. Those who had seen him speak would comment that they witnessed something otherworldly that day. They would say that the young hero spoke with a dignity and a wisdom beyond his years.

"I want to help with the clean-up," Harry said as he was helped along an empty Ministry corridor.

"No," said four voices at once.

"You're not fit to oversee anything," Hermione said briskly. "You nearly collapsed making that speech, and you know it."

"But I –"

"Let someone else be responsible for it for once," Ron said, smiling at his best friend. "You've done enough, mate. You've done enough."

"Take him back to the hospital, Ginny," Remus said. And Harry, knowing when he was facing defeat, wisely did not argue any more.

"That was very well done, by the way, Harry," Hermione said as they approached an Apparition Point.

"What was?" he asked.

"Your speech. The way you made it sound like you were giving them a choice, when really, you weren't at all."

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing at Remus. "I learned that technique from the best," he commented wryly. Remus looked away.

"I have no idea what you mean," he told him. Harry grinned tiredly.

"Oh, before we go, I have a message for you, Remus," he said, just now remembering.

"From who?" Remus said, puzzled.

"Sirius," Harry said quietly, and though he could feel three pairs of curious eyes on him, he did not take his gaze from Remus. "He says, and there's no way I'm going to do this delivery justice, but he says to tell you to get up off your ass and start moving. That you don't have the war to hide behind anymore, and she's not going to wait around forever."

The four young people all looked at Remus knowingly, hiding smiles as the older man turned a telling shade of red.

"Ahem," Remus said, clearing his throat and trying to remain dignified. "If you will all excuse me." And with a nod to them, he Disapparated. The four friends all burst out laughing.

"Now, then," Harry said. "If you three are sending me back to Mungo's, you're all coming, too. No, no excuses!" he said loudly, to be heard over Ron and Hermione's protests. "You both also need to let others take care of the responsibilities for once. You're right; the three of us have done enough. We have things we need to discuss, and you," he looked at Ginny and Ron," need to be with your family." Satisfied with nods from each of them, Harry and the others Apparated back to the hospital, where he consented to rest only if it was in George's room with the rest of the Weasleys.

"Harry," Ron said as they were helping him down one of the corridors, "there's something you need to know." He exchanged a long glance with Hermione. "About Hermione and me." Ginny snorted.

Harry fixed his two best friends with an amused look. "Ron. Hermione. Do you honestly think I don't already know?" At their shocked expressions, he said, "You two have been more obvious than anyone else I know for more years than I can count." He surveyed them over the tops of his glasses. "It's about time you two did something about it." They both blushed and avoided his gaze, but Ginny grinned at him.

Once settled in the antechamber to George's room, Harry allowed himself to be fussed over by a Mrs. Weasley whose eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. She had insisted Harry lie down as much as he could on a sofa while she tucked a blanket around him. He allowed this, holding Ginny's hand as he embarrassedly accepted the entire Weasley family's praise of his speech, which they had heard on the Wireless.

"How's George?" he asked quietly. Mrs. Weasley tried to smile at him as she resumed her seat by her husband.

"He'll live," she said. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Fred look away, pain etched on his face. "But they – they don't think he'll ever walk again," she whispered. Harry shut his eyes. This victory had come at a cost.

A knock on the door interrupted them. A pale blonde wizard not much older than Harry poked his head shyly into the room. He clutched a roll of parchment in his hands. "Mrs. Weasley? Mr. Weasley?" he asked. "They told me I could find you here?"

"Yes, I am Arthur Weasley," Mr. Weasley spoke up. "Come in. What do you need?"

"My name is Will Greer," the young man said, coming all the way into the room and removing his hat courteously. "I was sent – by the Minister. I'm a – a clerk. In his department. I – I shared an office with – with your son. With Percy." Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes against fresh tears. Will faltered, not knowing if he should go on.

"You knew Percy?" Mr. Weasley asked quietly. Will nodded.

"As well as anyone, sir," he said quietly. "We were partners for a year and a half. I – I only just found out he had – They read his name. On the Wireless. And the Minister came back with this," he said, holding up the parchment. "Percy wrote it before he left, and the Minister wanted you to see it. I – he joined the battle because he was worried about all of you," Will said very softly. "He said he couldn't live with himself if he was the brother who stayed behind again. I – I've never heard anyone talk about his family the way Percy talked about you."

Harry squeezed Ginny's hand as tears flowed down her cheeks. He saw Hermione do the same for Ron. Mr. Weasley nodded, tears in his own eyes. "Read it to us, then, son," he said quietly, nodding to the note in Will's hand.

With a swallow and a nod, Will unfolded the parchment and began to read.

"'To Minister Scrimgeour. Dear sir. Though I have the highest respect for you, both as a man and as the Minister of Magic, I regret to inform you that I cannot do as you have ordered me. Once before in my life, I was asked to choose between the Ministry and my family. I made the wrong choice then; I won't do it again. I have to make sure they are safe, and I have to fight beside them for what I know is right. If there is still a place for me at the Ministry when all this is over, I will return to your office gladly. If not, then I thank you for all the opportunities you have given me and you have taught me, most recently, what truly is most important in my life. Yours, Percy Weasley.'"

The silence after Will had finished was deafening. After a long moment, Mr. Weasley spoke.

"Well then," he said, tears in his eyes. "Perhaps you would like to stay with us, Will, and help us remember him?" Will looked surprised at the invitation; indeed, he wasn't the only one. Many heads in the room turned to him, but he met the stares evenly, saying, "We need to forgive him, all of us. The forgiving should not be hard, not now," he nodded to Harry, "but we must do it before we can grieve. And we must grieve before we can truly move on. Will you stay with us, Will?"

Will nodded, taking a seat in the circle. As Harry listened to the stories and shared in the tellings, he realized that the Weasleys had done what they had always been so good at doing. They had invited another into their midst and made him family. And, Harry mused, with families like the Weasleys, he thought the wizarding world stood a good chance of doing as he had asked.

* * *

Stick with me for one more chapter! That's it! Oh, and review!


	13. To Heal and Move On

The last chapter! Haha! And there're still 13 hours until Deathly Hallows is released, hehehe! I did it! (Sorry, Harry Potter high. Little giddy. You all understand.) You can still finish my story and then go and read the real thing:)

Thanks ever so to all the people who have stuck with it this long -- you've no idea how much I appreciate all your feedback and comments. Thanks tons to my beta, TMell, even though he only was around for about the first half of this -- he helped solidify the story line into the goodness you've seen here. Thanks to Heidi, who has faithfully reviewed and sent advice, and thanks to Maggie, who pushed and pushed and pushed and without whom, this might never have been finished.

Oh, and yes, I know the last word of the book is no longer 'scar,' but . . . I couldn't resist. :)

And now, my last pre-DH DISCLAIMER (I shall try to be witty):

Four years ago a writing girl created

A trilogy that grew out of control

And finally, on final fight fixated

To tie loose ends and make the story whole.

And now I say, though by me it was written,

It is not mine, nor ever has it been.

* * *

Promises Kept

Chapter Thirteen - To Heal and Move On

After twenty-four hours of bed rest and around the clock surveillance, Harry's patience was wearing thin. He had taken to pestering and badgering Healer Bromton so much whenever the man came into the room that he finally gave up and admitted that he could see no signs of negative after effects of Harry's experience, apart from stiffness and weakness. It took a few more hours of wheedling and cajoling to get the Healer to sign him out altogether, with only the promise in exchange that he wouldn't wander alone, he would come back immediately at any sign of trouble, and that he would use a cane for support. The last Harry agreed to most reluctantly.

After Apparating with Ginny to the site of the battle where the last leg of clean-up was still going on, he was trying to convince her to allow him to ditch the cane, but Ginny was having none of it.

"I heard Healer Bromton's orders as clearly as you did, Harry," she told him firmly, walking with him toward a familiar figure.

"I know, but it makes me feel like an old man," Harry whined playfully. "I don't need to use it, and how's Healer Bromton going to know?" Ginny fixed him with a glare.

"Harry, are you a Healer?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"And can you take ten steps on your own right now without falling down?"

"No," he admitted grudgingly.

"Then shut up and use the cane," she said, and that was that.

"It makes you look dignified," Remus called, coming to meet them. Harry grimaced.

"I'm eighteen; I'm not supposed to look dignified," he complained. "I'm supposed to look vital and healthy and vigorous."

"And when you are vital and healthy and vigorous, you will look so," Ginny said. "Until then, you're using the cane. And if I hear or see otherwise, it won't be Healer Bromton you have to worry about." She smiled at him sweetly. He sighed.

"I am properly chastised and frightened into compliance," he grumbled.

"Good," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. "I'm heading back to St. Mungo's. Remus, make sure he uses that." Remus laughed while Harry rolled his eyes.

"Will do, Ginny." She Disapparated, and Remus said to Harry, "How are you, really?"

"Stiff, shaky, and being mothered from all directions," he said with good humor.

"Yes, well, dead tissue takes time and rest –"

"In order to regenerate, yes I know," Harry broke in. "I swear Healer Bromton spelled everyone who might run into me to repeat that phrase at least twice in my presence." Remus smiled.

They began to walk, Harry leaned heavily on the carved wooden walking stick that the Healer had provided for him. All over the field, Harry could see the signs of the battle that would not soon fade from the landscape. "All this is being covered from the Muggles?" he asked. Remus nodded.

"Yes, and any who saw the battle last night have had their memories modified. There are Muggle Repelling Charms around the perimeter now, and once those are lifted, there will be glamour work to hide the spell marks from their view. The Ministry wants to erect a monument here, did you hear?"

Harry nodded; he'd heard rumors to that effect from Will Greer. "Yes, I heard," he said with a sigh. "I don't suppose we can use our combined pull to convince them to add the Death Eaters' names to it?"

Remus shook his head. "Your speech yesterday has planted the seeds, Harry, but you can't expect fruit this soon. Push too hard and too fast at the beginning of the process and it will fall apart before your eyes. Time and distance and the imperfection of memory will add their names to the stone eventually. Until then, we must be satisfied with the small changes that are already being made."

Harry nodded and the two continued their slow walk around the forest edge. Harry took in the sight of the workers still clearing rubble and debris. It was symbolic, this process, which was half of the reason Harry wanted to help with it. Only by picking up what was left of the past could they move on and heal.

"And you?" he asked, after a time. "Work everything out with Tonks?" he asked innocently, with a sly glance at Remus, who tried to look severe and dignified at the same time and ended up accomplishing neither. He cleared his throat.

"Yes," he said simply. "And I don't believe I need to relay the story to you; I imagine you've heard it from several sources by now," he almost growled. Harry grinned.

"True enough," he said. "Honestly, Remus, if you were going for discreet, you shouldn't made your, from all accounts, rather passionate display of affection in quite so public a place." Remus colored and almost managed to look offended, but a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

"I had to make Sirius proud, didn't I?" he asked, amused.

"Oh, I imagine you did that fairly well," Harry said with a laugh.

The story of Remus and Tonks had spread far and wide since the previous afternoon, and had gotten back to Harry very quickly indeed: how Remus had Apparated from the Ministry directly to the battlefield; how he had sought out Tonks first thing; how Tonks had been in the middle of a conversation with Kingsley; how Remus had asked to interrupt for ten seconds or so before taking Tonks in his arms, dipping her back, and giving her a long and passionate kiss in the middle of a battlefield while all crews looked on. Though most accounts said that he had then straightened, thanked Kingsley, and merely turned and walked away without another word until Tonks had gotten over the shock and run after him, Harry (whose source was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt himself) knew that Remus had said, at some point before walking away, something cryptic about being ready, able, and more than willing to make promises now.

Harry had to hand it to him; he may take forever to act, but when he did, he did a thing right. "But, in all seriousness, you have worked everything out satisfactorily with her?"

Remus smiled softly. "Yes," he said sincerely. "Yes, we have." He peered up at the sky. "Honestly, I don't know why I waited so long to let myself love her," he said softly.

"Nor do any of the rest of us, but it's all right. You two have nothing on Ron and Hermione." Remus laughed.

"No, I don't suppose we do!" he admitted. "But let's talk about you, Harry. Have you, Ron, and Hermione decided what you're going to do next?"

"McGonagall stopped by St. Mungo's yesterday to talk to each of us in turn. We're categorized as being on temporary education hiatus right now, so it won't be any trouble to go back for our last year in September. The real trouble comes with the fact that all three of us are now moving in different career directions than we planned out two years ago."

"Really?" Remus asked, curious. "So, you three aren't going to head right off into the Ministry's Auror program?" Harry smiled and shook his head.

"No. "

"Ministry's not going to like that," Remus commented, making Harry laugh.

"No, they're not. They already showed up at the hospital yesterday, to recruit Hermione and Ron. Stayed away from me, but I think that's because they've just assumed I'm already there. They're in for an unpleasant surprise."

"Ron and Hermione definitely against it, then?" Remus asked.

"I don't think Ron and Hermione ever _really_ wanted it," Harry said with a shrug. "I think Ron liked the _idea_, but . . . it was never what they wanted to be doing. They did it mainly for me." They walked on in silence for a while longer. Then Harry said, "You know McGonagall has been serving as Headmistress in addition to teaching Transfiguration?"

Remus nodded with a grimace. "I heard a rumor to that effect. Why hasn't she hired a new transfiguration professor?"

"When I asked her, she told me she was waiting for her chosen replacement to finish the training."

"Who's her –" Harry gave the older man a look. "Hermione," Remus said. "Shouldn't have asked."

"McGonagall said Hermione was the most gifted Transfiguration student she ever taught, second only to my dad. She wanted him to replace her, but he was set on being an Auror, and he didn't want to wait twenty years for the position to open."

"Hermione's going to teach, then?" Remus asked. Harry nodded.

"She's really cut out for it. I think it was the direction she was always going to in. You know Hermione; she could do absolutely anything she chose to do, but educating others has always been her passion."

"I can see her as Headmistress in twenty years," Remus observed. "She's got the right temperament and pull for it." Harry squinted up at the sky. Remus glanced at him, somewhat startled by the gesture. "You don't agree?" he asked.

"No, I do, and I think she'll get offered it at some point. I just don't think she'll accept."

"Really?" Remus asked, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Why not?"

"You have to give so much to that job. Few Hogwarts teachers are married, and there's a reason for it. But I know Hermione won't be willing to accept the position unless she can have both. It _is_ Hermione, so, in forty years, with children grown . . . who knows? She may change her mind." Harry gave a small smile. "But right now, Ron's the most important thing to her."

"How's he feel about all this?" Remus wanted to know.

"Works out well, actually," Harry said with a little laugh. "Surprised everyone with his intentions, including himself, I think. He said he wants to teach Defense. Said that everything we've done this past year really showed him how far behind our schooling was. Of course, he also said he's gonna wait and watch what happens to the 'bloke' in the job now, since he has no desire to 'kick it' after a year."

Remus laughed. "We didn't all kick it," he said. "Some of us just resigned."

"Or had their memories erased or were attacked and controlled by Death Eaters or were kidnaped by centaurs," Harry said wryly. "He'd like to make sure the curse is really gone before vying for the position.

"Wise of Ron," Remus said, still laughing. "Which leaves us with you. I take it that you, also, no longer have your heart set on becoming an Auror."

Harry shook his head and stopped walking, looking past Remus into the heart of the forest. "I don't want to be that person," Harry said softly. "I don't want to be the go-to Dark Wizard fighter. I don't want what I had to do at eighteen define what I do for the rest of my life. And the truth of it is, this past year, I have had enough of this kind of work. I want to do something worthwhile, something that isn't about destruction and pain and death. I want to give life, not take it away. I want to help people by doing just that. _Helping_ them."

"So what are you looking at?" Remus asked him.

"The past day and a half I have walked the halls of the hospital and I have spoken to the wounded and the families and . . . I have found the people who have truly done the most in this battle. The Healers. They have mended bones and stitched flesh back together and stopped curses. They're tireless. They don't stop, they're always making sure everything is all right." Harry shook his head. "I always thought Healing was a simple thing. A potion here and a simple incantation there . . . it's not. I know it's not. I spoke to George's Healer for an hour and a half this morning. The regimen they're putting him on for the next few months . . . Healer Knowles flat out admitted to me that they don't have any magic to help him walk yet. But he outlined all these experiments, potions, spellwork . . . I want to be a part of it. I want to help people like him. I want to find a way to Heal people, to make their lives better."

"A worthy ambition," Remus said. "I take it, though, that you haven't told the Aurors?"

"I've told you, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, and George. I'll tell the people who need to be told. Everyone else can stuff it."

Remus laughed. "You'll go far, Harry," he said seriously, resting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Whatever you end up doing. I'm proud of you. You've come a long way from the thirteen-year-old who used to share tea with me in my office." Harry smiled at the memory. Looking up, he saw the tell-tale red that signaled an a Weasley.

"Ah!" he said, faking cheeriness. "My nursemaid approaches." Remus laughed.

"Indeed she does. You headed back to the hospital, then?"

"No," Harry said, after a brief hesitation. "To Surrey. We're going to meet my aunt." At Remus' raised eyebrows, he said, somewhat sheepishly, "I did tell her I'd try to keep her informed of what was going on. And . . . she's my last real family. I'd like Ginny to meet her. And I have a note to her from Mum."

How the little roll of parchment had survived from the place where he'd been to the land of the living, Harry didn't know. He also didn't really want to question it. When he'd gotten a chance to unroll it, he'd seen a few simple sentences in his mother's by-now familiar handwriting.

_For all the difference in hair color, you and I shared a temper, Tunia. I should have known better than to inflame it. Let us each claim half the fault and be done with it. Harry is your family now and you are his. Love him without feeling guilty, dear sister, as I love you. _

"You still haven't convinced me that this isn't going to be extremely awkward," Ginny muttered to him as she led him to the Disapparition Point.

"That's because it _is_ going to be extremely awkward," he said cheerfully. "For the first few minutes or so, but then I trust that you will both get over it and become good friends."

"You trust in that, do you?" she asked, clearly not believing him.

"I do," he said. She sighed.

"Well, I'll do it because I love you, but I'm not making any promises," she warned.

"I'm not asking you to, love," he said. "I'm also trusting that my aunt will speak for herself." He flashed her a smile. She grimaced.

"We might as well get this over with," she muttered before taking his arm.

* * *

Petunia Dursley smiled to herself, humming a little as she wiped down the counters in her kitchen. Once the surface was sparkling, she covered it with wax paper just as the timer on her oven went off. She took the latest batch of cookies out and spread them on the wax paper. Looking around the kitchen, she had to laugh. Every surface was covered with row upon row of chocolate chip cookies. She hadn't done this much baking in years, not since Dudley had been young. 

Depositing the still-hot cookie tray in the sink to cool, she took off the oven mitt and wiped her hands on her apron. Her nephew would be here any moment . . .

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Smiling, she set off down the front hall to open the door.

Two red-topped blurs came flying through, one shrieking at the top of her lungs. "DYLAN!!!! No FAIR!! It's MY turn to be the knight!! You got to LAST TIME!!!" Petunia dodged expertly as the boy peeked out from around the corner, tongue out and the girl lunged for him.

"First come, first serve, and slowpoke sisters LOSE!" he taunted, eliciting another shriek.

Laughing at the six-year-olds now racing around her living room, Petunia looked back to the front door only to have another child enter. This one was a girl a few years older with long, dark hair and a solemn expression. Looking up at Petunia, she said, with a long-suffering sigh, "Children." Petunia feigned solemnity and nodded. "Donna, Dylan, stop it right now!" the girl said severely. "You know better than that!"

The twins stopped tussling then, but not because of anything the girl was saying, but because they had both smelled –

"Cookies!" they said at the same time and raced off toward the kitchen.

"Donna! Dylan!" came a man's commanding voice from outside. "You set one foot in that kitchen before invited to do so, and you won't like what happens to you!" he warned.

The twins halted just behind the doorframe, then exchanged mischievous looks.

"One," the boy mouthed.

"Two," the girl mouthed in return.

"Three!" they both yelled and leapt over the threshold.

Just then a tall man entered the front door, looking sternly at the pair. "What did I just say?" he asked.

"You said one foot!" Dylan shouted gleefully.

"And we put in two!" Donna finished with a giggle. The man gave a long suffering sigh of his own and tried not to smile. Turning back to the open door, he pointed a finger and said, "They're yours!"

A rich, deep laugh answered him, and a red-haired woman entered, carrying a bundle of baby. "And why would you say that, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Because mischievous twins come from your side of the family," he said with a half-smile.

"Yes, but your father was quite a trouble maker, from all accounts, so I don't think you can pass them off quite so easily." Laughing, Harry Potter put an arm around his wife and led her through the hall to his aunt.

"Ginny, dear!" Petunia greeted her with a gentle embrace and a kiss on the cheek, which was returned.

"Always good to see you, Petunia."

"Auntie Petunia, Auntie Petunia!" the twins said, clamoring around her legs. "Can we have some cookies. Pleeeeeeease?"

With a laugh, Petunia said, "Oh, of course, you two!" And she led them into the kitchen and handed them two cookies each, and another two to their older sister as well.

"Now, up to the attic," the older girl whispered, pushing them toward the stairs.

"Aren't you coming?" they asked her.

"In a minute!" she said through clenched teeth. And so the two flew up the stairs, their footsteps and happy cries echoing down the hallway. "Auntie Petunia, you have to see my new brother!" she said enthusiastically.

"You're right, Rose, I do!" Petunia agreed. "Introduce me, would you?" And so Rose led her aunt over to her mother.

"This is PJ," she said proudly.

"PJ?" Petunia repeated, with an inquiring look to Harry, who rolled his eyes.

"Peter James, but Rose is _insisting_ on calling him PJ." Rose planted her hands on her hip and looked disprovingly up at her father.

"You _can't_ call a little baby Peter James! It's too big of a name!" she said primly.

"So PJ he is, and PJ he'll probably remain," Ginny said with a smile. "Looks like his da," she said, wrinkling her nose down at the bright-eyed baby, who smiled a toothless smile up at her.

"That he does," Petunia agreed, taking him as Ginny offered him and lifting him up in the air. The baby looked down at her curiously with hazel eyes. "But he has his mother's eyes," she said to Harry, who rolled his own.

"And I imagine he'll get as tired of hearing that as I did," he said.

"Yes, most likely. Well, come on into the living room and sit down! You must have had quite the long journey!"

"It's not a bad drive," Harry said.

"From London to Surrey?" she asked, pretending to be shocked. "So you say." Laughing, Harry conceded her point. She led them all into the living room, young Rose following her parents. "So fill me in!" she insisted once they were all seated. "Last owl I had from you was when this one was born, a full three weeks early, I might add!"

Ginny groaned. "Oh, yes, and right in the middle of Rosalie's first introduction; I've never been so embarrassed in my life!" Harry chuckled.

"She was very understanding, love."

"Now, you'll have to remind me who Rosalie is," Petunia said, bouncing PJ on her knee.

"Charlie's fiancé," Ginny said. "Oh, and you _have_ to come round the Burrow this summer for the wedding!" she insisted, laying a hand over Petunia's.

"Well, of course! I wouldn't miss the last Weasley's wedding! That brother of yours finally got his act togther, did he?"

"You sound like Mum," Ginny said. "Yes, yes, he's getting married at last, and that's everyone in the family. It was an ordeal, getting a date when everyone could be there!"

"Mummy?" Rose broke in. "Is Cousin Dominic going to be there?" she asked.

"Yes, dear. We got word last week Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur will be coming." Rose 'hmphed' and crossed her arms, slumping back in her chair. "Why, Rose, whatever is the matter? Don't you want to see Lila and Marietta?"

"Yes, I want to see _them_," she said, sounding very put upon indeed, "but I _don't_ want to see Dominic! He's starting at Hogwarts this year, and he'll be absolutely _impossible_!" Harry and Ginny exchanged a smile.

"Well, he did just turn eleven, Rose."

"I know, but _I_ want to start at Hogwarts, too!" she insisted.

"You have a few more years to wait, I'm afraid," Harry told his daughter. "You're only eight, and you do have to be eleven first. Besides, I thought you _liked_ your lessons with Uncle Remus and all your cousins!"

"I _do_," Rose said. "But they aren't the same as lessons at Hogwarts!"

"No, they aren't," Ginny agreed. "But you can get together with Emma Lupin and all your cousins and complain all through the wedding, okay?" she asked, tickling her daughter until she coaxed a giggle out of the eight-year-old.

Just then, a loud crash echoed through the house, rattling the walls. Ginny raised her eyes to the ceiling, and said, "Oh, dear," she said with a sigh. "Rose, honey, would you mind heading up to the attic and making sure your brother and sister aren't getting into too much trouble?"

"Of course, Mummy," she said, transforming into the model of dignity, and walked from the room. Her parents watched her go with equally amused expressions.

"And where did she come from, with that cool and calm demeanor?" Petunia asked with a laugh.

"I have _no_ idea," Ginny admitted.

"I do," said Harry wryly. "That's from Aunt Hermione," he said. They all smiled.

"Now, you'll have to run through the count for me," Petunia said to her nephew and his wife. "If I'm coming this summer, I'll need to keep everyone straight. Bill and Fleur have . . . ?"

"Six," Ginny said.

"And Fred and Angelina?"

". . . two?" Harry said, looking at his wife, who nodded.

"But Angelina is pregnant again, they announced last month."

"Right."

"Okay," Petunia said. "George and Ellie have just the one, though," Harry and Ginny nodded. "And Ron and Hermione have . . . three, right?"

"Right. And that's really all you need to know," Ginny said with a smile. Petunia rolled her eyes, smiling.

"Says you. I'll be studying pictures and names from now until then!" Harry and Ginny laughed. "So, how did Rosalie and Charlie meet?"

"Rosalie is a Muggle archeologist," Ginny said, smiling at Petunia's raised eyebrows. "Charlie met her in Romania; her team discovered a dragon skeleton, and Charlie's team had to send someone to modify the skeleton and convince the Muggles it was no such thing."

"And that person was Charlie," Petunia said, adding to the story. Ginny nodded.

"Exactly. And things . . . progressed from there!" she finished.

"Well, you may tell them that I will be there, and if your mother needs any help, she's to let me know so I can come early! No, I insist!" she said, over Ginny's token protests. "Now tell me what you've been up to at Mungo's. Are you any closer to cracking your puzzle, Harry?"

Harry grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "No," he said with a sigh.

"You're closer, Harry," Ginny said, laying a hand over her husband's. "You're getting closer all the time."

"But not close enough!" he insisted. "It's been ten years; you'd think we'd have made more progress than this!"

"George doesn't mind, Harry. He knows you're doing all you can, and look at everyone you _have_ helped! Why, you're the most demanded Healer in the business!" Harry gave his wife a wry smile.

"So they tell me," he said.

"Your modesty is to your credit," she said to him, kissing the tip of his nose. He smiled in good humor. "Besides, George has all he can concentrate on now, taking over for Binns. He's really starting to make an impact on that subject for his students. He can't take the time out to submit to strenuous Healing sessions that are all you have to offer him right now."

"If I could just get him for the summer, there's that new series of spell work being developed in Sweden that they're willing to share, the –"

"I thought we'd both agreed to keep the work at the hospital, dear," Ginny admonished gently. Harry smiled.

"I am properly chastised," he said, inclining his head to her, and turning back to his aunt.

"This year marks George's . . . third teaching?" she asked. "Just how many family members do you have up at that school?"

"Ron's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the sixth year. Hermione's taken over Transfiguration for the sixth year, and then there's George, and Ellie is serving as the school's nurse now, so . . . four!" Ginny said brightly.

"Just when McGonagall thought she'd gotten rid of you," Harry commented wryly.

"A fact Fred likes to point out to her as often as possible," Ginny said with a laugh.

"And the world?" Petunia asked softly. "How is it?"

"We're coming up on the ten-year anniversary, and I know the Ministry's planning something huge to commemorate the occasion. And, I have it from a reliable source that he's planning on announcing his retirement then, too."

From the look on his face, his 'reliable source' was likely her sister, Petunia mused. Glancing at the framed note on the mantle, Petunia shook her head slightly. She'd stopped questioning how the continuing relationship was possible long ago.

"Any news of who they're getting to replace him?" she asked.

"Word on the street is that they've approached Remus," Ginny said happily. "And that they really want him."

"But McGonagall's got her eye on him to take over at Hogwarts as Headmaster when _she_ retires," Harry added, then smirked. "He's nearly as popular as I am."

"And there's no telling which he'll choose," Ginny said. "He could do a lot of good as Minister, but he may be too modest to accept it. I see him more as Headmaster; he's a lot like Dumbledore." Harry nodded.

"Of course, knowing Remus, he's just as likely to decline everything and stay at home with his kids," Harry chuckled.

"But the fact that he's being courted like this is the most encouraging thing I've seen in a long time. It means people have moved past the fact that he's a werewolf, and are more than willing, eager even, to see him hold a prominent spot in society." Harry nodded again.

"It is encouraging. Ten years after the battle? I'm pleased with the changes I've seen. Even just in Hogwarts. There are Muggleborns in Slytherin and the children of one-time Dark supporters in Gryffindor. And there are friends all across the board, with actual Common Rooms through the castle for cross-house friends to meet. A person's house has stopped being the ultimate definition of who they are. And that means we're raising a more tolerant and peaceful generation."

Harry smiled down at his sleeping infant son, snuggled in his great aunt's arms. "Which is good news for everyone," he whispered, squeezing his wife's hand. "We're moving on."

Harry Potter and his family stayed for a long visit that wintery spring day. When they had finished eating supper and the sun had begun to set, Petunia hurried them all out her door, saying they had a long drive ahead of them and they should start it sooner rather than later.

"We'd be more than happy to help you with the dishes," both Harry and Ginny started to say, but Petunia shushed them.

"Of course not!" she said, waving a hand at them. "Whip out your wands and clear everything away and leave me nothing at all to do? Now, go! On with you!" And it was hugs all around and promises to arrange a week to get away for the wedding, and then the six of them were out the door and the house was back to its quiet self.

With a smile, Petunia began tidying up, talking, as she always did at this time, to her sister's picture on the mantle.

"Oh, Lily," she sighed. "I know I say this every time he comes to visit, but that son of yours gets more handsome every week. And your grandchildren are the most precious kids in the world." Lily's picture smiled down at Petunia, who glanced up at it before folding an afghan and continuing. "The most sought after Healer in St. Mungo's, you know. They've offered him several managerial positions, but he turns them all down. His wife's the same way with her psych patients. They both want to be doing the real work of the business, not telling others what to do.

"Oh, and little Rose!" Petunia said, sitting on the sofa with the folded blanket under her arm. "I said I didn't know where she got that demeanor from, but I do. She's just like mother. Watching her handle the twins today . . ." Petunia laughed. "Whenever you and I got in trouble, Mother would speak to us in just that tone of voice, you remember? She's so self-possessed, even at only eight." She sighed happily and stood to fold the afghan over the back of the sofa. Then she went into the kitchen and started the dishes, talking all the while.

"And the little one! Peter James, PJ. Now _he_ looks just like his grandfather! Or rather, I imagine he does; he looks just like Harry did, but with your husband's eyes instead of yours, and since everyone says Harry looks just like James, I think it's fair to say the looks have come full circle." She stood for a while, happily scrubbing the dishes, humming to herself again.

After a few moments, she stopped, her thoughts turning contemplative. She turned off the water and walked back into the sitting room, to address Lily's portrait directly. "You know, it amazes me," she said softly. "Ginny's older brother is getting married this summer, and they've invited me. Every time I have gone to Molly Weasley's home, I have been welcomed with open arms. They've made me part of their family. Me! A Muggle, and Harry's Horrible Aunt to boot!" She shook her head. "But that's all forgiven now. Was forgiven long ago. They're really the most forgiving sort of people I've ever met. I don't know many wizards outside the Weasleys, true enough, but . . . well, I know what Harry's been trying to do there, and if the Weasleys are any judge at all, he's succeeded admirably!

"And, if the news is true, that Remus Lupin, a werewolf, has been offered the top job in their government, well! I think it's safe to say that all prejudices have been nearly forgotten! And that's a miracle in and of itself, really." She looked lovingly at the picture of herself and Lily from that Halloween, many years ago.

"Harry's really taught these people what it means to forgive. And in ten short years? I'd not have thought it possible! But then," she smiled back at Lily, "he is your son. So I suppose I should have known."

She kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them to Lily's forehead. Then she gave a smile and walked back to the kitchen, passing numerous pictures of Harry and his family and old photographs of the Evans', and one, her favorite, a picture of the day Harry had come home from the war and brought both his future wife and a small scroll of parchment.

Ten years ago, this family was broken, she thought. And somehow, Harry healed it, and if he'd done nothing else, that would have been more than enough. That had been his first real Healing, now that she thought of it.

She gave a little laugh as she thought more and more of the idea. "And the most impressive thing about it," she whispered, "He didn't even leave a scar."

_Fin_

* * *

Thanks so much for sticking through to the end! Review and enjoy Deathly Hallows!

Realmer


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